Battle Royale Caledonia
by Caissa's DeathAngel
Summary: In a utopian Britain, the youth rebel and are forced to kill each other in the Battle Royale Program. An Original Battle Royale, join these 17 year old Scots as they fight for their very lives...
1. Class Roster & Weapons List

**Author Notes and Legal Disclaimer: **This work is voluntarily rated M for scenes involving strong, graphic, violence, strong language, nudity and sexual themes, drug use, and other adult themes. By continuing on you certify that you are mature enough to handle such themes, content and material, and I cannot accept responsibility for the negative consequences of exposure to such material to those for whom it is not intended. I have faith enough in mankind that while I encourage the showing of this work to as many as possible, that you will not do so to those who may be offended or otherwise affected by the above content issues.

This work is based on the novel, film and manga, _Battle Royale_, the novel being written by Koushun Takami and the film directed by Kenji Fukasaku, with the manga being published by Viz comics. I do not own the trademarks associated with Battle Royale, and all legal properties of each form of the work remain the properties of their respective owners. Full details may be found with a brief internet search. Differences do exist in key areas of the book, such as my not using canon-characters. Details of the plot, characters, and setting I retain my own legal rights regarding as I am their creator.

The characters are fictional. A number of characters are based on real individuals; this is where I and others (for the original idea behind certain characters was not conceived of by me) have created versions of either themselves, their friends, family or possibly enemies. I can only assume permission has been gained from those who are the basis of real people, or else that significant details have been changed. Nonetheless I must point out that as I do not know the majority of people who submitted characters, it has not been possible for me to verify directly that such permission has been given.

I consequently request that anyone who may believe themselves to be the basis of a character and who would like to speak to me about the matter please send me a message on here and I will do the best I can to resolve the situation. This could mean altering or removing certain details of the character, changing the name, etc. If I do not receive any such requests, from this point forth I consider that there are no objections until a request is made.

As even where characters are based on real individuals they are fictional variants, I retain full legal rights to them. This includes where character ideas were given by others, though full credit for those characters will be given in due course, and anyone wishing details of the original creators of any given character(s) need only ask me and I will supply as much information as either I can or you would like.

I hope my efforts will be considered worthy by you my loyal readers. For your time in reading this work I offer my sincere thanks.

And always remember - the Legacy of the Anti-Clique will be sealed with the kiss of a blade.

* * *

**Full Students/Weapons List:**

Males:

1. Richard Diallo - Razor-edged boomerang  
2. Kevin Hetfield - Bottle of acid  
3. Manuel Noles - Collapsible bike  
4. Adam Lewis - GPS Tracker (akin to Hiroki's from the film)  
5. George Ryan Jr. - Sickle  
6. Andrew Cruddas - Cheese wire  
7. Jake Wilson - Aluminium baseball bat  
8. Scott Irving - Collapsible Rocket Propelled Grenade Launcher (4 rockets, which detonate on contact with danger zones)  
9. Josue Flores - Walther PPK pistol  
10. Peter Lucianus - Sniper rifle  
11. Darren Cooper - Axe  
12. Layne Diallo - Kalashnikov  
13. David "Dave" Clark - 12-Bore shotgun  
14. Oliver "Olly" King - Colt .45 revolver  
15. Stefano Valutti - Binoculars  
16. Roy Smiths - Dagger  
17. Charlie O'Keefe - Tazer  
18. Ian Doherty - Uzi 9mm  
19. David "Rem" Remnant - 15 inch black rubber dildo  
20. Kenji "Ken" Kamin - Box of 6 hand grenades (detonated on contact with danger zone)  
21. Alexander "Alex" Vesselin - Box of assorted Fireworks and Matches  
22. Mark Johnson - Crowbar  
23. Sir Not Appearing In This FanFic - Rocket Propelled ICBM Launcher (12 ammo, does not detonate in danger zones)

Females: 

1. Rozelinda "Roz" Mayfair - Box of 12 darts (sport)  
2. Elyse Backman - Spiked ball and chain  
3. Hannah Bishop - Tranquiliser gun and darts  
4. Charlotte Turner - 2 remote control car bombs, detonate on impact with danger zones  
5. Laurinda Davies - Fighting staff  
6. Sadie Willis - Chainsaw  
7. Jenna Widdowson - Katana  
8. Jemi Bridger - Pneumatic spike  
9. Valerie Woolfe - Road flare  
10. Sandra Jackson - Brick  
11. Natasha "Tash" Checketts - Poison (type TBC)  
12. Amber Canton - Nailgun  
13. Jade Brown - Bullet proof vest  
14. Thera May - Bowling ball  
15. Kim Magdalene - Rope  
16. Rahne Southers - Crossbow  
17. Leah Faith - Radio - tuned to collar frequencies so can listen in on other students.  
18. Natalie "Silent" Shimizu - 5 Shuriken throwing stars 19. Shanae Preston - Whip  
20. Anna Wilson - Nunchuks  
21. Emily Green - Message "Ha ha you lucked out - no weapon!"  
22. Holly Morgan - List of all other weapons  
23. Alyssa "Aly" Davids - Flamethrower  
24. Zoey Volta - Jar of killer bees


	2. Prologue: History Basics

**Prologue - History Basics: The Political Background of Battle Royale Caledonia**

As taken from _A Legacy Imploded - Lessons in Generational Disharmony Learned From Battle Royale Caledonia_ by Harrison Graham, Walrus Publishing, London: 2039

As of the time of writing these words, we have reached the 20th anniversary of a monumental event in the history of our great nation, the United Kingdom of Scotland, England, Wales and Ireland. Many words have been said, many pages have been written as to this event, what exactly happened, how it happened and why, and one may justifiably question why the current author now writes more. To this I say that on such an important anniversary, one full text containing every piece of knowledge one might ever need to know is required. To whit, I have been given along with this commission a great honour - access to the location where it all happened, DNA archives, even the heretofore top secret audio transcripts that have long been sought after by academics such as myself and by the general public.

...

Before anything can be said of the events themselves however, some political exposition is first required. It is recognised by the author that any child of this great nation will know much of what is to be said in this chapter. For the sake of completeness however, all aspects must be covered. After all, one dare not hope to fully understand how events happened as they did, without first understanding why.

**A New Beginning in Government**

In June of 1997, a new Government administration came to power, ending two decades of rule by the previous incumbents, the Conservative Party. The Labour Party was led at that time by Anthony Blair, the youngest Prime Minister in British history. Victory was achieved ... easily against the corrupt and decadent "Tories", with much of the populace deliberately voting for anybody except the Prime Minister at the time, John Major, as shown ...

The precise reasons for the victory are irrelevant in this text, but it is of note that despite the above evidence indicating a desire to simply prevent the Conservatives retaining power having an influence on voting patterns, it is easily possible to overstate this factor. A more accurate reasoning is that evidence was provided as to how Labour would fix the myriad mistakes made by the Conservatives.  
To a large extent, this is what happened in the intervening years, with ... and although it has been argued by a few notable individuals that the Labour administration used past mistakes to cover up their own, as noted above it is not the purpose of this work to defend or refute such arguments

...

**A New Era of Human Rights**

In 1998, the events were set in motion which eventually led to what is described in this work. It was in this year that the Human Rights Act was formally passed. This was the assimilation of the European Convention on Human Rights (ECHR) into British law. A referendum was considered but decided against, as it was not believed that any significant opposition to it would arise, and that the costs in holding such a vote would almost certainly outweigh any benefits it would bring.

The Act's incorporation was in some ways a simplification of the existing judicial process. The ECHR was created by the European Union, a grouping of countries not unlike a less formalised version of the United States of America as it existed at the end of the 20th Century. At the turn of the Millennium, a series of protocols for increased integration was enacted, one of which was the ECHR. This aimed to standardise the definitions of the various rights held by the citizenry. By incorporating its provisions into British law, the need for the European Courts as a final place of appeal when a citizen continued to disagree with a legal judgement was removed; the grounds on which such appeals would be made would be considered as part of the original or first appeal verdicts.

An unexpected consequence however was that many more people became aware of rights they did not previously know they had, and thus the number of claims of infringement of basic rights began to increase exponentially. While most of these were legitimate, a noticeable minority also sought to take advantage of technicalities in the legislation, thus to some degree exploiting it in order to attain better rights, and not merely those legally required to be provided by, for example, employers. The Labour administration did not directly oppose this however, instead seizing the chance to increase their favour with the working class citizens who had always provided the Party with their primary support base, as opposed to the middle- and upper-class favouring Conservatives. This took the form of a total reinvention, branding themselves "New" Labour. Part of this was the strong promotion of the idea that Britain should be a beacon of multiculturalism within the Western world. While multiculturalism was not a new idea by any means, its specific use as a "buzzword" only truly became apparent at this time.

Laws began to be actively enacted that would ensure forever that all traces of racism, ageism, sexism, bigotry ... and sectarianism would be eliminated. The overriding name for this doctrine was Political Correctness, and all British citizens were urged to follow it. Again, this was not a new idea in itself, merely one promoted with a new passion by the Government. This was an admirable goal; after all not a one of us can deny the baser elements of human society, nor oppose their eradication by any and all means, but on September 11th 2001 the world changed forever.

This was the date of the destruction of the First World Trade Centre in New York City. These attacks signalled the start of the War on Terror, more recently designated the Second Cold War by commentators such as Millar (2038) and Hedgewick (2039). In the aftermath of these attacks, Western antagonism towards Islam increased many-fold, with organisations such as Al-Qaeda becoming household names for the first time, although their leadership had been known to Western authorities for many years. The public did not oppose increased security within the country. Indeed, they actively embraced it, becoming more cautious and introverted, particularly towards outsiders in communities. This caution even found itself becoming, in some cases, open hostility.

This of course was in direct opposition to the government's stated aims of providing a free society for all to live in. Searching for an answer, the administration saw answers in the doctrine of Political Correctness. It was not difficult to integrate its greater application into ordinary society; all that need be done was to cause the citizenry to realise that more words and actions than they thought were capable of causing great offence. Seen by some as emotional blackmail, enough people were willing to step forward with legitimate and claim offence had been caused so as to quickly silence those voices. Noting changing economic trends creating gaps in the native British labour market, the Government sought to encourage immigration, particularly in the fields of ... a task made difficult by hostility among the native populace. By promoting the idea that any form of hostility, even implied or inferred, was as bad as a direct attack on the subject, a swift change in cultural attitudes was enacted.

Needing to ensure the maintenance of order in the face of opposition to such attitudes however, the Government effectively removed the need for proof of a given course of action having caused offence for it to fall foul of what became known as "Anti-ism Laws". Thus, the various "isms" such as sexism and racism were dealt with proactively rather than reactively, on the grounds that the right not to be offended by something took preference in the eyes of the law over freedom of speech and of expression.

This was nonetheless a view strongly disputed among certain areas of the populace, especially when well-publicised cases of what many considered abuses of the ECHR came to light. In one infamous case, a group of murderers successfully sued their prison wardens over the denial of access to hardcore pornography in prison, arguing that this infringed their right of access to information. That the claimants in that case were Muslim did nothing to ease ethnic tensions in the country, and it was quickly realised that a legal precedent would require to be set, one way or the other.  
Both the Government and Opposition parties argued for various cases to be considered the precedent, such as ... but none were truly suitable. In 2004 however, the majority of the leadership of the extremist right-wing British National Party was arrested at their annual Party Conference in Bradford, including party head Nick Griffin. Audio transcripts of the conference indicated that their speeches contained material that could cause offence. The question however was whether this offence could be legitimately considered unlawful.

After a protracted trial, fiercely fought by both sides, in which ... Griffin and the other leaders were found guilty and imprisoned. The Government had its precedent. In the interests of creating a Britain where citizens could live free from the fear of being offended by other citizens, certain freedoms would need to be sacrificed.

...

This was not accepted by all, at least not immediately. Some, even those from ethnic communities, were against being told in advance what did and did not offend them. These people however were quickly branded as traitors to their communities by those who supported the Government's measures. As the years passed, opposition gradually diminished, with the people starting to warm to the idea of being able to walk the streets free of offence. The Police became ever stricter in their punishments, and the Government as a whole ever-more controlling in such areas as media output, but for the great majority, they saw their quality of life as having improved. Even those who once protested soon started to forget why they ever had, and developed a tendency to shudder when thinking back on the days of yore when there were no restrictions on what anyone could say to you.

The economy greatly benefited from this as well. Britain's welcome to immigrants was like no other developed nations'; the previously existing gaps in the labour marker were filled, and from all over the world, people wanted to come to this great nation, to be a part of this great nation.

One section of society however, did not fully embrace this new age, this new dawn. They were the young of the country - old enough to recall to some small extent the days when causing casual offence was not a crime, but young enough still to question all before their eyes. It is accepted that radical ideas will be entertained while one is young and ignorant. It is also however assumed that education will enlighten young people as they progress through their adolescence, and that they will soon realise the fallaciousness of their former outlooks. After all, were not the previous generation often student radicals in the 1960's and 1970's?

That of course was a common argument put forward by leading youth activists of the time. The critical flaw though was that the world had changed, and the simple truth is that many were just unwilling to accept that. Nobody denies that the social change implemented in decades gone by was essential, after all before the 1960's it was considered acceptable to discriminate on grounds of mere race or gender. Mistakes were made in the past and it was thanks to those willing to stand up and fight that they were corrected.

This time however the cause did not make sense to those in power. The issue was the right to offend, and the question of whether one's freedom of speech - bringing with it the freedom to offend - took priority over one's right not to be offended by the free speech of others. Now any person of common sense living today understands that this should never have been an argument. It is obvious to anyone that ... were in the right. Yet at that time, neither side was willing to back down.

**An Escalating Conflict**

The Government's initial response to the criticism of the culture of Political Correctness was to accuse them directly of the various "Isms" that they claimed to so decry; the logic was that if one is defending the right to be racist, one is implying inherently racist tendencies in one's self. The converse is that if one is not racist, and if it is accepted that racism is not a good thing, then there is no logical reason why it should be permissible. There was no shortage of people from ethnic backgrounds willing to claim offence either. This attempt to quell the disquiet backfired spectacularly however due to the unexpected intervention of adult organisations as powerful as the Muslim Council for Britain. For they, while supporting the aims of political correctness as a whole, condemned the notion of British Muslims being told what offended them by the government, an attitude which they rapidly extended to other areas of society such as the Catholic community. This was the result of the Government cancelling a planned fireworks display at the Houses of Parliament to celebrate the 400th Anniversary of Guy Fawkes' Day in 2005 in order to avoid offending Catholics.

In reflecting on how a potential stalemate degenerated into something far worse, the author at this point recalls two sayings which perhaps both sides in this conflict should have taken greater heed of: "Let he who is without sin throw the first stone" and "People living in glass houses should not throw stones". The debate as to what exactly constituted the "first stone" will likely never end, but the first use of violence motivated by the debate over the validity of Political Correctness Doctrine was certainly by a youth activist.

That incident was the throwing of a Molatov Cocktail through the window of Kent County Council's Police Headquarters, after it emerged that in order to protect minority interests, racist crimes committed by black people against whites were to be considered with less seriousness than the converse. The boy responsible was arrested, but committed suicide before he could stand trial in an attempt to bring greater publicity to his actions, which the Government had attempted to hide through increasing control of local media. His plan succeeded and he became a martyr to those who opposed the Government, many of whom now relinquished any reluctance they held towards taking their own action. And that is when the war of words became more akin to an actual war.

News reports of activists being arrested were now a daily headline; the Government refused to suppress the stories, despite their repetitive nature, in order to keep it in the public conscience. The propaganda battle raged, and it was again the Government who were prevailing. After all, with people realising the fallacy of causing offence to others, crime rates were down and the economy was booming. Between the constant reminder of this and the regular arrests, resisters of the Government rapidly stopped resisting. Groups such as the Muslim Council for Britain realised that their credibility was seriously threatened if they opposed an administration which had done much to eliminate bigotry and racism, and thus were unable to continue their support for youth activist groups like the Alliance of the Condemned Ones ...

Faced with what seemed like few alternatives, individuals and groups such as the Alliance resorted to ever-increasing violence as a political tool. Ironically, some of these collectives proved the Government's depiction of them as wild and feral correct by their own actions. Some success was had, though not of the kind intended - an economic impact was felt. Companies supplying or contracted to the Government found themselves increasingly the victims of youth violence, with firebombings, kidnappings, and even the murder of leading employees and managers among the depths to which they sank.

The result was unfortunately inevitable: many of these companies suspended the rendering of services until the security situation could be resolved; others were unable to survive at all and went bankrupt. What had looked until recently a paradigm economy was starting to collapse. And those responsible still continued to protest and to riot, even in the face of every other area of society united against them. One may partially blame manipulation of the media for that, indeed one could hardly doubt that attention was deliberately displaced from what the protesting was about to the damage it was causing for the country. Readers of a certain age will recall though that damage was done, and to hide this would have been an equal disservice. The United Kingdom was trying to show itself to the world as a nation free of intolerance and where everyone could live free. Yet how could it, when this supposedly simple idea was so violently opposed by such a large fraction of its populace?

...

The culmination of the conflict was in January 2019, when the Prime Minister's own son...led a large riot of 20,000 people in London. Suppressing the riot, armed police proceeded to carry out the orders of the Cabinet and execute him without trial in Trafalgar Square in front of supporters and bystanders. Time had run out, and an immediate resolution to the crisis was required.

**Final Solution**

As a stopgap solution all persons under the age of 19 were banned from entering any public place after 7 pm whilst the Cabinet deliberated as to how best to address the problem. They had ordered the death of the beloved son of their employer, and if they backed down now they would certainly lose power. Every youth-supporting group in the country was directly accusing the Cabinet of treason in denying...a trial and of betraying their country by killing him at all. It was not clear however how to ensure that such a rebellion would never again occur without appearing Fascist or losing sight of political correctness and it was deemed impossible under existing British legislation. Such a blanket restriction on liberties as they had employed temporarily most certainly could not last, given the international reaction was condemnation.

Left with no option, they looked to other countries which had previously experienced problems with the youth. Japan theorised a number of ideas before deciding to grant the young economic and political rights of a kind unheard of in any part of the world ever before. Such a thing would fall foul of that ancient law, "give them an inch and they will think they have a foot" and would invariably lead to the collapse of the government so this idea was quickly rejected. Japan's population after all, while discontent, were never as openly violent as their British equivalents, and their government was generally seen as sycophantic towards dissenting citizens anyway.

A more promising idea was found with the United States of America, who trialled a significant and powerful disciplinary programme, previously tabled but swiftly rejected by the Japanese. This programme lasted for 72 Hours at a time and was held once a fortnight, from Friday to Sunday. It was said to lead to the dissolution of the youth leadership; however, the reaction was far from expected: by the time of the starting of the fourth such exercise some 10 million Americans below the age of 20 had committed suicide. Faced with the destruction of an entire nation within a generation the government caved entirely. This was certainly not an option. But the death of the entire youth of the country was considered acceptable by the British Cabinet; it would provide adequate opportunity to start afresh. And so it came to pass that in May 2019 the 6th years of St. Barnabus College, Perth in Scotland became the first participants in a programme known only to the British public as "Battle Royale Caledonia"...


	3. PreGame: Lazing On A Monday Afternoon

**Pre-Game - Lazing On A Monday Afternoon**

_Oh how I wish for soothing rain_

_All I wish is to breathe again_

_Once and for all and all for onc-_

"What? Jemi, for fuck's sake, I forgot to charge my MP3 player last night!"

"Twat," came the reply, accompanied by the usual sly smile.

Jemi Britcher couldn't help but laugh good-naturedly at Jenna Widdowson, her best friend for as long as she could remember, as she groaned with frustration. They had been through everything together, so naturally they sat next to each other on the bus on the way to their reward for completing high school - three days on the scenic island of Caphraig. "The perfect respite from the rigours of studying before your exams," they had been told. Aye, right - even the teachers knew most of the students on this trip were going for a piss-up. Away from the mainland, with only one token chaperone, he being the dad of one of the class and notoriously friendly with many of the year! It was going to be one Hell of a trip, all right. Jemi also knew, though, that the trip was really a bribe, a way of keeping the 6th Years from repeating the antics of last year's class on Muck-Up Day. A little last day fun was to be expected, but trashing the school to the tune of £120,000 of damage was too far, and emergency measures had to be taken. "_They could at least have made it cost less given it's a bribe. £40? Fuck off."_

Jemi looked around the bus at her classmates, most of whom were chatting excitedly across the bus. Beside Jenna sat David Remnant, though he hated that name. To everyone he was Rem. The other member of their so-called "Trio," he had met the pair in a playground in primary school, they clicked, and the rest was history really. Stereotyped among many in the year as "Goth," it was a label they all despised. It may have come from their appearances, given all three wore primarily dark clothes, and had long dark hair, piercings and tattoos. They were also misanthropic, and were not afraid of showing this whenever they could. Jenna and Jemi were mostly introverted, keeping things within their own (very exclusive) circle. Quite a lot of the others didn't like them, which was just fine by Jemi, because she didn't care for them either. Rem was slightly less introverted, but still liked the security a small group gave.

Rem sat slumped in his chair, half asleep. Jenna rolled her eyes and pushed his head away, it having rolled onto her shoulder. Rem grunted, annoyed, and turned to face the other direction.

Jenna, meanwhile, had put away her lifeless iPod and was now looking over at Kim Magdalene. She was sitting just across from her own trio, in between Mark Johnson at the window and Adam Lewis in the aisle. Scott Irving was directly in front of Kim in the row in front beside Kenji Kamin. Peter Lucianus completed that row, having apparently beaten Scott and Kenji to the window seat. They seemed to be glaring enviously at him, and he was gloating out of the corner of his eye as he enjoyed the view.

Just then, something caught Jenna's eye. Jemi squinted to see what it was. Adam daydreaming? Why would that interest - oh, she saw now_. _He wasn't. No, he was ogling Holly Morgan in front of him, whilst trying to make it _look_ like he was daydreaming. Head Girl Holly was the daughter of their chaperone, Pete Morgan, the Head of 5th and 6th Year at their school. Petite, with shoulder-length chestnut hair and glimmering brown eyes, she was generally considered extremely good looking and attracted the affections of a lot of guys. Jemi found her boring, though, nothing particularly stand out when you consider your typical "attractive girl."

Adam was clearly among the multitudes attracted to her though. He was Head Boy and the most overtly political of the year, along with the rest of his "Anti-Clique". Some people had suggested they were a match made in Heaven – they were both extremely honest, caring people whom the majority liked. Fortunately for Adam, Holly was too busy chatting with her best friend, Rahne Southers, and a few other girls to notice him checking her out.

"Jemi, look at Adam." There was a disturbing glee in Jenna's eyes. Something told her she wanted to have a bit of fun with the guy. Jemi hoped she didn't go too far, though; Jenna had a history of that, and had taken one too many pot-shots at Holly over the years to have a healthy relationship with their teacher. '_We don't need trouble this early into the trip. There'll be plenty of time to do stupid shit when we get to Caphraig_,' she pondered to herself.

"Adam! Could you come here a minute, please? Aaadam. Aaadam. Aaaadam. ADAM!"

Startled, Adam looked around in a "discreet" effort to see if anyone had caught him eyeing up Holly, trying (and failing) to look like he had just woken up. _'What the? Uh-oh, tell me that's not...oh for God's sake, it's Jenna. What the hell is she doing?'_ he thought, alarmed.

"Welcome back," a voice beside him said. He jumped what felt like half a mile out of his seat.

"What? Don't look so shocked! You were daydreaming again. I swear to God, Adam, you seem to spend more time on other planets than this one." Kim gave him a quizzical smile. Jemi rolled her eyes at his pretence actually having worked on such a close friend – and an intelligent one at that – as Kim. Adam tried to cover up the huge wave of relief pouring over him, took a deep breath, and composed himself.

"What, was I? Oh, sorry. I'm just tired, that's all." He said with fake doziness. He was a terrible liar and he knew it. The truth was that he'd had strong feelings for Holly for years. It wasn't like they were compatible, despite what a couple of whispers he had heard suggested. But she was so wonderful! So sweet, so caring, and so talented. The problem was that they had completely different interests. He was a geek, a politician, and a philosopher, along with the rest of the Anti-Clique. She was a chilled-out girly girl whose idea of a good night in was a few glasses of wine while she played her guitar or piano with her friends.

Kim didn't actually know about Adam's feelings for Holly. It was the only thing about him he hadn't ever told his four closest friends. No, Kim was too close to Holly for that to be an acceptable risk, unfortunately. He hated himself for hiding it. "The truth hurts. Fact. Lies hurt more. Fact." That was his philosophy (and excuse for tactlessness), but this was the exception to the rule. '_Would that I could just tell her…'_

"Adam, are you awake? Could you come here a minute, please?" Jenna was beaming, and that wasn't like her.

"What is it, Jenna?" He knew she knew he wasn't sleeping. Jenna was perceptive to the point of being near-psychic, and as poor a ruse as that would never fool her.

"Just – come here, will you?" Sighing grumpily at the prospect of getting up, he went over to her, careful not to be noticed by Mr. Morgan at the front of the bus. They were in about the middle, so that shouldn't have been a problem.

"Come in close. Listen, if you're gonna stare at Holly, be a bit more subtle, okay? It's nothing to me, but people did see you." Adam looked flustered.

"What are you…I, I wasn't…"

"Yes, you were. Come on, Adam, who do you think you're talking to?" His reaction said it all. Adam closed his eyes and sighed, mortified. He figured Jenna probably knew about him and Holly; you just couldn't keep things like that from her. But now she was poised to shout it out. So why was she warning him about staring like this?

"All right, guess I can't really deny it. But I don't understand - why are you telling me to watch out? Thought you'd just tell Holly?" He spoke the words nervously, his self-consciousness rising.

"Oh, I don't know. I guess it makes it more fun for me to watch you, since you now know I could tell her you've been staring at any moment. And I really don't think she'd be happy with that. Hell, Rahne would probably beat the shit out of you; wouldn't that be an entertaining start to the trip?" The more she thought about it, the more delighted with herself Jenna now looked and sounded. Adam Lewis was now her little puppet; his eyes now gave away a delicious combination of fear and anger. Jenna did this so often, and so effortlessly, that many in the year feared her. The look of pure awe from Jemi, her biggest fan, said it all.

"Please…don't do it, Jenna. Not now." Desperation, this was so entertaining!

"It doesn't matter what I say to that. After all, I know something you don't want her knowing, and since you can't force me not to say anything, either way you'll just have to hope." Jenna smiled sweetly, in that disturbing Wednesday Addams sort of way.  
While Adam searched for a reply, Jenna glanced over his shoulder; Kim suspected something, and was trying to work out what they were talking about. "Nobody likes an eavesdropper, Kim," she said with a knowing look in her direction.

Kim frowned. She hated Jenna, she always had. Two of her best friends got on well with her even though she was blatantly manipulating them, and she had no time for it.

"I'm not eavesdropping, you ignorant bitch, but my best friend is getting hot under the collar and he's talking to you. Doesn't take a genius to work it out." Kim was almost as perceptive as Jenna, so it was little surprise she'd been paying attention. Well, that and Adam was generally as subtle as a Buckie-swigging ned. Jenna was unfazed, but before she could reply, Peter jumped in. She had to laugh. The only two people who hated each other more in the year than Jenna and Kim were Jenna and Peter.

"Kim! Must you swear so often?" He looked over at her disdainfully. The girl had so much promise, yet she kept letting herself down in the most foolish of ways. She appeared affronted, which offended Peter. He was only trying to help her out; it was all he had ever done.

"Peter, who do you think I'm talking to?" This was what annoyed Kim about Peter. She cared about him a great deal; he'd helped her through some incredibly tough times and was her rock in a way that not even Mark, her closest friend, could be for her. But at times like this, when he rebuked her for little things like swearing, he got on even her nerves. Most of the others in the year were far less forgiving of him, so she felt she had to grin and bear it a lot of the time. '_Tolerance is a virtue, even among the intolerant_.'

"Two wrongs don't make a right. You have limited control over the actions of others, but full control over your own." His voice was ever-calm. He looked into Kim's eyes for a moment, and saw in them that she knew he was right. He smiled playfully. It was impossible to stay annoyed at Kim. She had her faults, but with his continued guidance, she was learning.

"Yeah, Kim, tut tut!" Peter looked over to see Jemi grinning. That one clearly needed more than guidance to achieve salvation.

"You would do well to stay out of what isn't your business, heathen. God will reveal his purpose for you in due course."

"And what exactly is that supposed to mean? On second thought…don't answer that. I don't care."

"Adam? What are you doing out of your seat, sit back down, now!" Morgan had just noticed that Adam was in the aisle and not in his seat.

"Oh, I'm sorry, sir." He feigned a flustered expression. "I actually just stood up though, to raise a toast to the class!"

"I really don't think this is the time-" Morgan tried to interject, but Adam couldn't be stopped now.

"Ladies and gentlemen, as we reach the end of 13 years of education, I salute you all. Congratulations – we survived high school! And if I'm honest, I think I'm gonna miss you guys! We're all moving on to different places, but for three more days, we can have fun together as a year. So hurrah for that! Anyone agree with me?" Jenna and Jemi looked at each other and sighed. This was typical of him – leave a hook and get his friends involved so it's not just him standing up on his own. Duly, before Morgan could stop him, Scott was on his feet.

"I agree with you, my man, we've had good times and bad times, but we've done it together and I think we owe it to each other to make this the trip of a lifetime. One vision! One purpose! One vision! One purpose!"

Now Kim was with them. "I'm with you! I'm not going to miss all of you…not by a long shot. But we have to remember that we are together through it all, loyal friends, insane idiots, even Godless _whores._" Kim glanced knowingly towards Peter, and then at Jemi's row beside her. She obviously had more to say, but as Morgan looked on in amused resignation, an unexpected voice forcibly interrupted her.

"Could the real Anti-Clique please shut up, please shut up, please shut the Hell up? It's getting really tiring now. I know you're going to miss your big power trips now that we're done with school, but I'm sure you'll all find a way to annoy the crap out of a whole new group of people at uni. Give it a rest for now, _please_." Rahne had been trying to ignore the grandiose pomp of Adam and his friends, but enough was enough. If they were going to ignore the fact that everyone else on the bus was either completely apathetic or scowling at them, then she was going to have to say something.

They weren't listening. Giving up, Rahne turned her thoughts to how much fun the next few days were going to be. After a few minutes she was shaken from her daydream by a rise in volume across the bus as it slowed to a halt. '_At last, the harbour, and a chance to stretch my legs!"_

As the students left the bus, Morgan gathered them around to explain.

"Alright everyone, it's been a long trip, so I'm sure you'll all be glad to get a bit of fresh air! As you know, there's been a problem with the ferries, and the next one to Caphraig isn't until 8pm. So rather than delay things further, you can spend the afternoon doing whatever you like around the town. Let's see, it's just gone noon now, so if you could all come back here by…six? That will give us plenty of time to get sorted out on the ferry before it leaves. I'd ask you not to leave the town just so we don't lose each other, but other than that, just have fun and enjoy yourselves. I'll see you all later, then, if there aren't any questions?"

"I've got one question, sir?"

"Yes, Olly?"

"Where do babies come from again?" Olly King had a legendary sense of humour, so it was no surprise he'd jumped in like that. The class sniggered as Morgan rolled his eyes with a wry smile. He was going to miss all this.

* * *

As taken from_ A Legacy Imploded _by Harrison Graham_, Chapter 1: Prelude to _

_Chaos, _p. 12

The precise reasons for the stopover in Oban have never been determined, but official records indicate that it was a late decision, and that Peter Morgan may have forced it through. Suggestions of a willingness on Morgan's part to compromise the Program for the benefit of his daughter have been made on many occasions, such as … although unofficial recollections by … claim it happened to relieve the students of any suggestion that alternations had been made to their believed holiday. By allowing them an extra addition to it only to dash their expectations later, the blow to the students' morale became even greater, thus increasing their suffering at that time…

* * *

The students quickly dispersed from the bus, eager to investigate their new surroundings. Sadie Willis immediately hunted down Holly, Rahne, Anna Wilson, and Sandra Jackson and headed off with them in a random direction. None of them knew where they were going, so wandering about and seeing where the wind took them was enough of a plan for now.

"Nice day, isn't it?" said Anna, with a chirpy smile. She'd always wanted to visit the Western coast of the country, see places like Oban and the Western Isles. Now she was finally getting the chance.

"It'd be better if Tony were here," Holly blushed.

"Oh, I'm sure you can last a few days without the guy. Anyway, just think – he'll want you even more when you get back!" Anna winked at Holly. She was a typical girly-girl when it came down to it, and there was no shame to her in loving boy-talk.

"It's only been a few weeks, hasn't it, you getting serious already?"

"Actually, Sandra, I think it's _because_ it's not been a long time; we're still in that gooey new-relationship phase where you just want to be around each other all the time." Tony was in the same year as Holly but at Perth Academy just up the road. The guys in her school were nice enough, but unlike her friends, she didn't see much potential in them. Holly could afford to be choosy given her popularity, and while she was modest about that, there was no shame in taking advantage when it came to guys.

"Oh, well, we've got enough wine to keep ourselves distracted amidst the gorgeous scenery anyway, I'm sure you won't miss him too much!"

"Lots of wine, and, oh yeah, how much weed exactly, Sadie?" Rahne looked at her in a mockingly scathing way. Sadie was something of a hippie, and was friends with Zoey Volta, another hippie who was also a bit of a stoner. Sadie never liked admitting she smoked though for some reason, even among her friends.

"Oh, er, just a couple of eighths…what? Don't look at me like that!" she said defensively. The others just giggled, as Sadie changed the subject.

"So, Anna, you've never been to Caphraig before, have you? Or any of these islands?"

"Smooth, Sadie, very smooth. But no, I've never been there before. Looking forward to it, though! Plus, since this is a whole-year thing, Jake's here too – even better. Shame we couldn't bring along any extra guests, though, I think Rose was wanting to come along if she could." Family was a big deal to Anna, and since she was an only child, she treated her cousins Jake, who was in her year, and his two-years-younger sister Rose as surrogate siblings. Notoriously protective of them, woe betide anyone who dared speak ill of either.

"That's a shame, yeah, but at least Jake's here." Sadie was also fond of him, being a proactive supporter of his when he came out a couple of years ago. She saw herself as a bit of a champion for minority rights; then again her "peace and love" policy was universal so she supported human rights generally.

"There's a lot of good people here, actually, I'm glad everyone actually turned up!" Sandra was the kind of girl who got along with pretty much the entire class. This may have been because she was so weak-willed that she didn't have the stomach to ever be nasty to anyone, but she didn't see that as a bad thing. Too much nastiness in the world anyway. Okay, so she supposedly took it to extremes, with her friends being capable of dominating her quite easily, but helping people gave a nice fuzzy feeling, so it was worth it.

"I wouldn't go quite so far as to say I'm glad _everybody_ turned up, but still, I agree, there's some decent folk here." At that moment something clicked in Rahne. "Hey guys, where are we actually going, by the way?"

"Don't ask me, I'm just following you guys!" Said Sandra, sheepishly. Nobody seemed to know, though, it was like they'd been walking on auto-pilot since they'd left the bus. They'd found their way into a side street just off the harbour area it seemed, with the stone-work suggesting they were near the older part of town.

Stopping to get their bearings, the group was unaware of Natalie Shimizu exploring the town a few short feet away. As she walked through the cobbled streets of Oban, she took comfort in how serene this town was. It was why she'd always been so at home in Perth actually, her home town also being small. Well, Oban had a bustling harbour, but even so, it wasn't as bad as big harbour cities like Aberdeen. Most of her classmates would be moving to places like that in the autumn, to Glasgow and Edinburgh, or down south to London and Manchester for university. Not her, though, cities were too chaotic, so she preferred to avoid them. In fact, she preferred to avoid people altogether as much as possible.

That was how she gained the nickname "Silent Shimizu," which was what most people called her. She didn't mind; it was a fair reflection on reality. She didn't have anything against people, though, providing that they respected that she preferred her own company and wasn't interested in socialising.

"Silent? Is that you over there?"

'_Wait, what was this? Ugh, who was there? Can't they see I just want to be on my own, haven't they got the message after 6 bloody years? Never mind who it is, just keep moving and forget about it'. _

"Aww, come on, no need to run away! It's only me."

Ugh, Ian. It's the fact that it's "only you" that is the problem, funnily enough, so all the more reason to keep running.

"Not so fast, Nat! I just want to talk to you!"

"_Well I don't want to talk to you, and he knows I hate being called Nat,_" she thought. Just speed up, hopefully he'll take the hint and find someone else to chase. Like Natalie, Ian Doherty had no friends to speak of, but whereas in her case it was a personal choice, in his it was because he was so repulsive. He was creepy, though it was his continual inability to take a hint was the real problem, though, and she doubted he was going to just leave her be.

"There's no need to leave so fast, you know, you never talk to anyone, why don't we just hang out for just a little while? This is our last chance to properly see each other besides the prom, and apparently you're not going to that."

Yes, as expected, he wasn't taking the hint. Still no response from Natalie except to continue moving. '_Keep ignoring him, just keep ignoring him. No reason to get annoyed, he clearly just doesn't know any better and it's not your job to teach him. It's a beautiful day, you're feeling calm, and he's not going to disrupt that.' _

"I know you're there, you know, no need to keep ignoring me like this!"

She begged to differ, but was still determined to avoid acknowledging him, even though somehow Ian was now right behind him. Turning to face him, she smiled sweetly and started to move towards a nearby side street. Still no need for an argument. Hopefully now he finally would realise she didn't want to be his friend. A hand on her shoulder suggested otherwise, though. What was this? This was getting a bit close to the line now.

"Come on, just a few minutes of company, is that too much to ask?" Why was she being so negative? She usually did prefer to be on her own, but all Ian wanted was to talk to a real person for once and he figured she probably was a bit lonely. Being that isolationist was bound to do that to you eventually.

Silent removed Ian's hand from her shoulder with an angry sigh and threatening glare before rushing down the street. Ian followed her. '_Don't be afraid, she's probably just nervous about having a friend, she's always been that way and it has to change sooner or later.'_

This was not the case, however, and Natalie's patience was fast running out. Finally forced into a verbal response, she turned around and stared him down. "Ian, go away."

"But you won't even give me a chance, we could be good together!"

Natalie spluttered at what he'd just said. Did she hear him right? _Together?_ What was that supposed to mean? This had to stop. Now. "What?"

"Well you've never had a boyfriend, and I've never had a girlfriend, and we've finished high school now so I kinda thought that maybe..."

"That's it. I don't care what you "kinda thought maybe," I've not had friends or a boyfriend because I don't fucking want them and never have. You don't have them because you're a creepy little retard who won't take the hint when people tell you to leave them alone. I'm sick of being followed around, so either you can fuck off, or…" She raised a fist threateningly, feeling better for getting that off her chest. Being that horrible to people wasn't usually her style, but in truth, Ian deserved it. He looked like he was about to cry now; he was clearly taken aback. That was his problem, though.

Did Silent really need to say all that? Ian hadn't been that bad to her, he'd just tried to be friends with her! What was so wrong with that? No point in sticking around, though, he wasn't going to win in a fist fight with her. He wondered who else was around; surely not everyone was in as bad a mood as she was...

With Ian out of sight, Natalie breathed a huge sigh of relief, with a matching smile. Ah, peace at last, thank God for that. As it happened, she'd run to an interesting little street as well, with a nice little local craft shop just a couple of doors down from where she was standing. Hopefully the owner hadn't heard that argument. "_Oh well, might as well see what's in there"_, she thought, wandering over. This really was such a pretty little town!

A couple of streets away Alyssa Davids was in a good mood. She'd been looking forward to the school trip for a while now, and a half day extension in such a cute town was no bad thing to her. Never the most social of people, she was nonetheless happily hanging out with three other so called "outcasts," none of whom really deserved to be as such in her eyes. They were Manuel Noles, Emily Green, and Roy Smiths.

"I like this, you know, just relaxing in the sunshine. A good day with good people, what more do you need?" she chirped.

"Good people like you? All I need for my afternoon."

"Manuel, you're too kind!"

"No such thing, especially by your high standards, my dear!" joked Manuel. He meant it though, feeling that his friend was due a compliment.

Aly was generally well-liked, but as she was autistic, she felt that people sometimes didn't know how to act around her. Most presumably didn't mean any harm, but it was hard not to feel insecure because of it. Regardless, her other friends tended to hang about in their own groups. Like Adam, who clearly had Asperger's Syndrome without ever actually admitting it. She got on well with him and the rest of the Anti-Clique, who were very protective of her. But they often kept to themselves, and were a surprisingly exclusive group, actually. If she'd had more confidence, perhaps being more socially active would be less of an issue, but she was quite happy with these three.

Well, with Emily and Manuel she was. Roy she didn't get along as well with, but as long as she made her best friend happy, she was never going to be anything other than pleasant. They'd had some good times together, anyway, and when she thought about it, they did have quite a few of the same interests, so what if he wasn't perfect? "Outcasts among outcasts." It wouldn't make sense if it wasn't a bit weird.

"Anyone else feeling a bit hungry?"

"Eyes bigger than your stomach, Emily, still never fails to amuse."

"Considerably more amusing than that line became after the first time you used it, my love." Emily and Roy exchanged flirtatious smiles. Emily was exceedingly self-conscious about all aspects of her physical appearance. For the most part she wasn't unattractive, but her eyes did seem abnormally large. Naturally, Roy had been trying for years to convince her it made her stand out in a good way and, naturally, he was unsuccessful.

As her first boyfriend, this bothered Roy. Fortunately, he would always be there for her, and she did seem to take some comfort in the presence of him, Aly, and Manuel. Aly he didn't really like, admittedly, but if she did, then that didn't matter. Manuel was a decent guy, though.

"You know, if I didn't think you'd take it literally and run off, I'd be telling you two to get a room right now."

Aly laughed playfully as Manuel's quip made Emily and Roy realise that for the past couple of minutes, they'd been lost in each other's eyes. Emily blushed as they each forced themselves to look away from each other. Manuel just rolled his eyes and smiled. He was generally a man of few words, tending only to speak when there was something worth saying. It seemed to be an effective attitude, because it meant people listened whenever he did say something.

Looking to break the slightly awkward silence that had formed among the group, Emily returned to the key issue right now – food. They'd been idling on the street for a couple of hours now and she just wanted to sit down. As they passed a small tearoom, Emily stopped, pressed her face to the glass, and stared longingly at a large chocolate fudge cake dripping with chocolate sauce that was sitting in the window. Considering she was so slim, it would have been either very amusing or very curious to see this, if not for her famous capacity to eat absolutely anything that came her way. Looking at the others with puppy dog eyes, each in turn tried to keep on moving, until they too saw the cake.

"You know, it has been quite a while since we've eaten, and we haven't been told what's happening about dinner yet…" pondered Aly.

"Enough talk. We eat. You can't come to a town like this and not sample some of the homemade delicacies, after all!" Roy got exactly the reward he wanted for his decisiveness: Emily staring at him the same way she moments ago stared at the cake. With mocking force, Manuel dragged her into the shop.

Stepping inside, Aly paused a moment to take in her surroundings. She loved these sorts of places. Quintessentially British, they tended to be family-owned, with all the cakes and sandwiches homemade. Sometimes they were little more than a talented local housewife selling her family recipes to the community; others were more like very small restaurants. This one was apparently somewhere in-between. The walls were a cool blue from the ground to halfway up the wall, where they turned white, matching the floor and ceiling respectively. A few old pictures decorated three walls, with the cake stand dominating the ceiling-height front window. It appeared to be a husband and wife who ran the shop, with the husband, presumably Mr. McIntyre, given the modest sign outside, talking away to a couple of customers while his wife was just visible in the kitchen at the back. The kitchen looked domestic, suggesting the tearoom itself was a conversion of the front room of the owners' house; not uncommon for such places, particularly the smaller ones, and it gave a nice homely sort of feel to it.

While the owners gave a polite smile as the group entered, the half dozen customers were less welcoming, giving sullen glances met by an annoyed glare from Roy. A pair of backpackers was also in the shop; they seemed somewhat scared, presumably due to having heard stories of "feral" young people. Roy opened his mouth as if to say something, but Manuel silently put his arm around him and gestured him towards an empty seat. Noticing the discomfort of the others in his establishment, who seemed to be doing their best to ignore the unwanted newcomers, Mr. McIntyre hurried over to them.

"Good afternoon, welcome to McIntyre's, what can I get for you?"

"This one would like a slice of the chocolate fudge cake; I'll take a chance on your banoffee pie, please."

"Very good, and to drink?"

"Just a couple of diet cokes, please, don't think we need any more sugar after that!"

Aly tried to resist frowning angrily at Roy, who didn't seem willing to let Emily get a word in edgeways. Manuel had seen it too, and glanced uncomfortably towards Aly.

"And you, sir, what can I get you?"

"Oh, let's act as if it's summer while the weather still holds up – cheese and tomato sandwich and, uh, an orange juice, please."

"Good choice, the tomatoes are home grown!" he said, beaming. The choice was actually part of a running joke Manuel had. He was a largely humourless person, but he did like to play games with his heritage. Born in Spain to a Spanish father, but with most of the rest of his family, including his father's parents, being from Morocco, he had smooth dark skin and long black hair. His family moved to Scotland when he was four, so he'd grown up there, but due to his foreign appearance, he liked to act in stereotypically British ways for amusement. Seeing a black man who looked almost Rastafarian sitting in a park eating strawberries and cream always drew the odd quizzical stare, and his friends never got tired of that.

"And you, madam?" Aly did a double take, not being used to being called "madam" by anyone.

"Oh, er, chocolate cake as well please, and an Irn Bru."

"Thank you very much, I'll just be a moment!"

The group sat in silence for a moment, admiring the café and trying to avoid looking at the other patrons. Aly broke the silence, though, having finally run out of patience with Roy.

"Roy, I've been meaning to ask you something?"

"Yeah, what?" Aly wasn't the most subtle of people, this wasn't likely to be good.

"Why is it you never let Emily speak for herself, like in places like this? You know she can actually order a cake by herself, you didn't need to be so condescending about it!"

Roy sighed, a bit louder than he intended. There were two things that really annoyed him about Aly. First, she clearly wasn't an ordinary girl who was into the sort of things that made hyperactive fourteen year olds popular, despite her repeated attempts to persuade herself, and others, that she was one. Second, every now and again, she'd get on her high horse and lay into someone about whatever was bugging her at the time. This time, it was the latter, and it was the recurring theme of his supposed domineering towards Emily.

The fact was, Emily was chronically insecure. She'd lived in her sister Jessica's shadow her whole life, even before she actually realised it, which came around about S4 when Jessica went to university. Emily was never as gifted as her sister; she wasn't as intellectual, confident, attractive or graceful. Aly knew all of this, of course, where she and Roy differed in attitude was in how best to help her with her issues.

Aly believed in support from the sidelines, helping her to develop confidence that way. Roy, however, preferred a more direct approach of proving just how amazing she really was by showing just how much he wanted to be around her. There was nothing exaggerated about that; he really did care about her. He had such a reputation for morbidity that some people didn't think he really could be in love. Just because he normally wore black, had pale skin and, yeah okay, wore lipstick, didn't mean he was a pasty-faced goth. He could be as fun-loving as anyone, and he knew Emily agreed with him, even if few others saw it. He could give her what she needed – love and support.

"Aly, I appreciate your support, I really do, but it's fine! Roy was just asking for what I was about to, anyway, so what's the problem?" She seemed to have convinced herself that was true, but not Aly.

"Look I'm just saying that-"

"Yeah. Yeah, I know." Emily cut her off. Aly's problem with Roy bothered her more than she wanted to admit to her best friend. She knew she meant well, but Roy wanted what was best for her, and had never done anything to cause her to doubt him. Sooner or later, she surely had to accept that and just be happy for her? Still, by being protective of her, Aly was at least showing she gave a damn, which was very comforting. It was more than most people did.

At that moment, she found her thoughts interrupted by the sight and smell of approaching cake. "Enjoy!" said Mr. McIntyre, with a smile. With Aly and Emily wasting no time in getting stuck in, Manuel and Roy soon followed, with a wry smile exchanged between them. Today, when all was said and done, life was good. And cake just made it all the better.

Metres away, on the other side of the café window, Valerie Wolfe and Shanae Preston were feeling uncharacteristically girly that day. It was a beautiful day in a beautiful town, a fantastic school trip lay just ahead of them, and that meant the day needed to be completed by spending all kinds of money they didn't actually have. Granted, that would mean needing to lug more bags onto the bus and then back home again, but that was what boyfriends were for, and in their defence, Stefano Valutti and Kevin Hetfield had been warned in advance that any opportunity to shop would be taken.

It was Shanae's idea to do this, actually, and she wasn't the kind of girl anyone disagreed with, especially those who liked their teeth being where nature intended. Physically, she looked like a cross between a bodybuilder and a fashionista, which her boyfriend Kevin loved to joke about. Tall and dark, she was of Jamaican descent and had long wavy hair that she always kept in pristine condition.

"Hey Stefano, this would look good on you, actually! Val, what do you think?"

"I think you've shown once again you know far more about men's fashion than you should for a supposed girly girl with only two male friends," Kevin deadpanned to Shanae, gatecrashing the question with the kind of sarcasm no one else in the year would get away with, ever.

"You know, that's not bad, actually!" Stefano was looking at a navy blue shirt with all white around the edges. Wasn't a brand he knew, but it was a decent price without being too cheap, and Valerie's nods of approval said something. Perhaps, though, she was just surprised he was actually interested for once. It wasn't like Stefano hated shopping at all, but given how bright and sunny it was, all he wanted to do was work on his tan on the beach. Kevin had typically remained neutral, so shopping they'd gone.

Stefano looked over at his best friend, whom he'd known for years. He was one of those guys who was just nice all-round. He didn't come across as anything particularly special, and wasn't notable for anything other than his occasional bursts of tactlessness and being just about the only person in the year stupid enough to take on Shanae in an argument, yet good enough at arguing himself to actually win. That was almost unheard of. It was no surprise she'd fallen for him after that, she kept finding she pushed guys away with her dominant attitude. It wasn't a bad thing, really, and she was far from a horrible person once you got to know her, but people often took her the wrong way. It was a shame, though sadly understandable. Fortunately, Kevin saw through all that. Their relationship had done both of them the world of good, what with Kevin being seen as every girl's best friend or surrogate sister and no girl's partner. They had been going out for six months, which wasn't a long time, but it had been an extremely enjoyable six months.

As for Stefano? Well, he'd been equally lucky in love. The girl now hurrying him to a mirror on the wall to try on the shirt Shanae found had been his girlfriend for a year or so, and they'd known each other since they were very young. They'd met before they could talk actually, due to their respective families - Stefano was full-blooded Italian and Valerie was half-Italian, though both were actually born in Scotland. Valerie's father had divorced her mother and moved to England when she was very young, meaning she wasn't a part of the local Italian community in the same way he was. The two quickly became firm friends, though, and it was inevitable when they made it official in S5.

"Yes, that definitely suits, you're getting that." She'd been looking at him from every angle, in a way that from most girls would seem invasive.

"Meets your approval, then? You've spent five minutes staring it down," he smiled.

"I'm just making sure it's right for you, nothing wrong with that!" She looked at him quizzically, with mock innocence. Like Shanae, she was very sporty, so function took precedence over fashion, which made sense, given her logical nature. Still, indulging herself every now and again was something she could live with, and so there was usually a designer label somewhere on her person at any given time.

"Nothing wrong at all, you're down to earth and you think first – it's why I love you, my dear! Your skin as soft as silk, you glow like leaves in an autumn sunset…"

Valerie blushed as he looked deep into her. Say what you will about poetry being a clichéd way to get to a girl's heart – it found hers. For years she hadn't known if she wanted him as a brother or a boyfriend, or perhaps she'd just been insecure about her chances of holding on to him. But early into S5, she made the decision and neither of them had ever looked back.

"You know, I keep thinking I should learn poetry sometime, so I can impress you with it, but I'd never manage to keep up with you!"

"Go on, do it! Tell you what, you take up poetry, and I'll take up squash so you can kick me in at that. Then we've both got something." She squinted at him a moment in thought.

"Well, knowing us, you'd master squash a lot sooner than I'd master poetry -"

"Only because I've got you as inspiration," he interrupted. "That's all the motivation in the world right there, underneath that gorgeous tanned skin." Still blushing, and trying to resist the urge to giggle like an S1 being told a boy likes her for the first time, she simply continued where she left off.

"As I was saying, before I was so rudely interrupted," a fake, exaggerated look of stunned silence adorned Stefano's face as she continued. "You mastering squash first doesn't matter, I'll do it."

"That's fantastic, Val! I love you so much!"

"I love you too, Stef!" Embracing her broad-shouldered lover, other people being in the store wasn't enough to prevent Valerie kissing him right there and then.

"Hey, _Love Is_! Words to the wise – Shanae doesn't see anything else that's any good, so we're leaving, apparently. You getting the shirt?" Kevin seemed moved by their affection, it would seem jealous if not for his own lover pouncing on him from behind.

"I'm not some scary dinosaur to be avoided, you know, you don't need to be like that!" she said, playfully. The way Shanae generally acted around her boyfriend and two best friends was a world away from how she treated everyone else; in front of anyone else, she'd have come across as kitsch to look like that. "Anyone have anything they want to get, though? A few other places we can try around here, I'm sure!" Kevin mocked raising his hand, then realising he didn't have anything to say two or three times, then took Shanae's hand and waited outside the store for the others to pay for the shirt.

Wearing it out of the store, Stefano blushed at the admiring nods from his friends, and walked off with them, scanning for their next destination. They weren't alone in the scouring for bargains, from the looks of things, which was unsurprising. No rush, anyway, a few hours still remained of the afternoon. This was going to be a fun week, they could all see that very clearly.

Just a few blocks beyond the four shoppers, meanwhile, Ian Doherty ambled down towards Oban's harbour area, sighing as he thought on how he was still struggling to find someone to hang out with on this lovely Monday afternoon. Lanky and unattractive, he had always had problems making friends. He'd put it down to shyness when he was younger, but he was 17 now, and lately it seemed like there was some kind of magnetic force field pushing people away whenever he approached.

He'd hoped, though, that on the final school trip, people would be in a better mood and more willing to spend time with him, especially since they'd probably never see him again in the future. A few people had crossed his path today, but mostly they seemed to run off whenever they saw him. So unfair. What did he ever do to them? Was a bit of friendship and company really too much to ask? Getting emotional about it didn't help, obviously, but it was hard sometimes. Most times, actually.

Still, maybe autumn would be a new beginning for him. Ian had decided he'd run out of reasons to stay in Perth, so he was going to study English in Glasgow. Quite a few of his year were going to Glasgow or Edinburgh, but given he didn't get to speak to them often now, it was unlikely he'd see much more of them there. New people there, anyway. A whole city of people to ignore him and think he was a weird loner.

Least he would have books, though. Books and computer games – his only loves. His parents spent most of their lives working, so Ian was on his own a lot of the time growing up. People didn't like him, but characters in stories? They didn't even know he was there, so he could get to know everything about them. How could you not love that? He couldn't understand people who didn't. If only people in the real world could be as interesting. Wasn't the same, though. Books were great, but they weren't real human contact; that was what he truly craved. Some day, someone would appreciate him. Maybe someone in his new course, who shared his love of the written word.

'_Wait a minute! Who's that over there?'_ Ian was now on the waterfront, where the pier stretched out across the harbour. There seemed to be a few of his classmates over there, but they were chatting away to each other. Sitting on a nearby wall, though, was fellow bookworm Leah Faith. She was another one who tended just to hang about on her own, like Silent Shimizu, whom he'd seen earlier. Leah wasn't a crabby bitch like Silent was, though; she always had come across as lonely. Like Ian. Maybe she'd talk to him?

Ah, Leah. Petite, with long, auburn hair down to her waist. Pale, but pretty, despite her strange German accent. It's where her family were from, though, and she spent her summers over there. Ian knew she liked to do volunteer work at the local church, but when she wasn't doing that, she always seemed to be reading. He was sure she wouldn't mind being interrupted this once, though. He edged closer towards her, trying to see what she was reading. "Drat, can't see from this angle," he muttered to himself.

"Leah, hey there!"

That afternoon seemed to Leah to have been made for her. A gorgeous town, a beautiful view across the sea, the sun shining brightly and _Lanark: A Life in Four Books_. No matter that she'd read this one four times before, she still loved it just as much as she had the first time. A strange book, with even the author appearing as a character (something she'd seen before to little success), but she'd always been fascinated. But then she'd always had a vivid imagination, and dark fantasies greatly appealed to her.

Suddenly, though, she found herself jolted back into reality by a boy shouting her name. She was so surprised she nearly fell off the wall, and had to take a moment to steady herself. Who was it? Oh, Ian. What did he want? There was something unsettling about that guy; she didn't know quite what it was. Didn't matter, anyway, she was just annoyed at being distracted from her reading. She had a quick look around, reminding herself of where she was exactly. That's right, by the edge of the pier. Charlie O'Keefe and his group seemed to be over there, Mr. Morgan was chatting to the bus driver a way down the shore…and nobody else there. '_Good, let's hope Ian decides not to stick around either.'_

"Oh, hi, Ian."

"Whatcha reading?" So much for him not sticking around, Leah thought. Maybe it was time to find another spot to sit down.

"Oh, er, _Lanark_, got right into it and lost track of time there,"

"Cool! Not my favourite book ever, but it's ok, I guess! Want a bit of company? You look kinda lonely just sitting here on a nice day like this!"

Leah rolled her eyes_. 'Yes, I was on my own, but that's because I want to read. Oh, I wish he'd go away so I could just go back to it!'_ "No, I'm actually cool just being here reading, not really in the mood for socialising right now. I'm quite tired." Leah was very introverted, so didn't have a lot of friends, something that did bother her fairly often. But Ian wasn't the kind of guy she wanted to be friends with, that was for sure.

"Funny, I'm quite tired too, we could just lie down on the grass over there if you fancied?"

"Uh, damn, I've really gotta go pee right now, I'll see you later on, maybe?" She was getting flustered now, but he didn't seem to be giving up.

"Well, I can wait, not doing anything else the now," he said, smiling hopefully. There was more than a hint of desperation in his eyes, though. '_Is it worth persevering? Leah is famously shy after all, and with common interests…yes, she is worth it.'_ Leah had sensed the desperation, though, and now looked very uncomfortable. Ian just had to get past that; that would go away if only she'd give him a chance! Just move closer, take her hand.

Pulling away sharply to prevent Ian from grabbing her hand, Leah started to move towards the pier, realising that until she located a public toilet, she just had to get near people. No, wait, other direction, there was one just across the way on the harbour front. Ian was following, though. This was getting slightly worrisome.

A short distance away, Leah's appearing to be fleeing from Ian had caught the attention of Josue Flores over on the pier. A very sociable person, he was hanging out with the rest of the S6s from the Drama Club as usual. He'd stopped paying attention to the conversation, though, when he noticed Leah fleeing from Ian. Ian bothered him because he seemed to want to be like him; Josue had never had any problems talking to girls and had always been popular – two things Ian had always craved and never had. Leah was far too nice a girl to be left to be harassed by that creepy loser; someone had to say something.

"Guys, you seen over there?"

"No, what's happening?" Thera May gave him a quizzical look. She clearly didn't actually care, being more bothered with being interrupted. Josue gestured over. Still wanting to put the spotlight back on her, Thera rolled her eyes.

"Oh that's just Ian being Ian, he's harmless!"

"Yeah, well, I'm gonna go say something, I don't like that Leah's having to run away from him."

"Ooh, look at you, Mr. Knight In Shining Armour, going off to save the damsel in distress!" Elyse Backman chimed in, smiling mockingly.

"_Anyway_, I'll be back in a minute, guys."

As he moved closer, he shouted out to her to stop running. Seeing who it was, Leah threw herself towards Josue instead. "Josue! Please, can you say something to Ian? He's harassing me and won't take the hint!"

"Yeah, I saw from over on the pier. Arsehole."

"Wait, so you came over here for that?" Before he could reply, Ian had caught up to them. He looked unsettled by Josue's presence, and Josue took advantage, stepping forward aggressively.

"Oh, erm, hi Josue. Where did you come from, didn't see you there?"

"Yeah, I was just wandering around, noticed you appeared to be chasing after Leah. Any reason for that?" As he said it, Leah edged behind him. Ian tried to circle round Josue, but his eyes were locked on him. That annoyed Ian, after all, what business of Josue's was him trying to become friends with a classmate? He was out of order here, no question.

"I wasn't chasing after her, I was just talking to her! Don't see the problem with that." He was already being defensive, which wasn't doing him any favours.

"The problem, Ian, is that I told you I didn't want to talk to you, you apparently thought I was joking and followed me when I started running away. How can you not see what's wrong with that?"

"I just wanted to be your friend, though!" He sounded increasingly whiny. He knew he wasn't endearing himself to either Leah or Josue, though where things had gone wrong he wasn't sure.

"A stalker is not a friend, you'll never get any friends until you learn that," said Josue, forcefully. He was still advancing towards Ian, driving him back.

"Well you seem to be stalking her; you just turned up out of nowhere!"

"To _protect_ her from being harassed, you idiot! That's not the same as stalking, so _don't_ try and compare me to you." Josue knew now he'd made the right decision in coming over here. Ian was being completely unreasonable and yet had no idea that what he was doing was wrong.

"Look, Leah, can we please just talk, try and work things out?"

"No, we can't. I just want to be left alone to read, I was quite happy doing that and you could see that, so why did you have to interrupt me?"

"I thought you looked lonely!"

"I was on my own because it's hard to concentrate on reading when you're in a crowd!" This wasn't the complete truth, admittedly, but it wasn't a complete lie either and it was the best thing to say to Ian anyway. He seemed to see now that there was no comeback, and Josue stepped in again to end it.

"Ian, you've been told now by Leah that she doesn't want to be your friend, you've clearly upset her, interrupted the nice afternoon she was having, and generally been a dick about it, so you're going to apologise to her right now, then fuck off and leave her alone, got that?"

This was humiliating for Ian. How had it come to this? He didn't mean to upset her, or to ruin her day! Josue was much bigger than him, though, and responding the way he wanted to would probably only get him punched. It was time to call it quits.

"Ugh, okay then. Leah, I'm really sorry for bothering you, I didn't mean to, and it won't happen again. I'm going to go now, see you later." With that, he turned and sullenly walked away.

"Not if I can help it," Leah muttered under her breath. Ian heard her and turned his head back towards her briefly, but with both Josue and Leah glaring at him, he sighed heavily and continued off. He thought of maybe going for a coffee or something; if every person he spoke to was going to threaten him, then it wasn't worth the effort.

"Hey, thanks so much for helping me out there, that guy is so annoying!" A wave of admiring gratitude swept across Leah's face. Her smile made Josue blush slightly.

"No problem, any time! He's always doing that, so was glad to have helped! You're welcome to come join us on the pier if you like, you know?"

"Heh, thanks very much, but I think I'm gonna go back to reading, that spot I had before gave a great view over the sea!"

"Cool, have fun, then, and I'll see you on the bus."

"Yeah, definitely, see you later, and thanks again!"

With that, the pair headed off in their respective directions. Josue paused a moment as he noticed Thera and Elyse giving him a standing ovation, to the amusement of the others. Those others were Charlie O'Keefe, Darren Cooper, Zoey Volta, George Ryan Junior, and Andrew Cruddas. They weren't the tightest knit of groups, but were still fairly close, and since they all attended the school's drama club, they'd found themselves hanging around together a lot of the time. So it wasn't surprising that they were reminiscing about past days in the club when Josue returned.

"You know what I'm really going to miss actually? The auditions to even get into the plays." Elyse had a look of relish in her eyes as she spoke. "I mind when Mr Quirrel first arrived in S2? So different from how it used to be. I mean for the S1 play all you needed to do was beg enough and you'd get the part, after that we really starting needing to prove ourselves."

"Which you certainly wasted no time in doing! You got the part of Abigail Williams in The Crucible, still don't know how you managed that!"

"I'm just that good, George, what else could it be?" she replied, a sly smile adorning her slender features. She was Perth born and bred, but her family were French, her parents having emigrated in the 1980s, so she had the delicate appearance of a Parisian. Considering that she was known for being loud and hyper, the contrast was a frequent source of amusement.

"Not that I'm trying to massage your ego, but knowing Quirrel it couldn't have been anything else, I mean since when did he ever hand out favours?" There was a slight grinding of teeth as Andrew mockingly glared at her.

"Aww, you're too kind! And obviously you don't begrudge not getting into a major play until S4 either, do you?"

"You're loving this, aren't you? Just because you got into every one after First Year!" It was hard to tell how serious Andrew was being right now; he didn't even know himself. The truth was he was jealous of that fact. He tried just as hard as anyone else, yet it took several years for his talents to be recognised in the Drama Club and this frustrated him. He wasn't as bad as Elyse, but he was certainly highly competitive.

"Come on, she didn't mean it like that, you know she's only joking, aren't you, Elyse?" Perhaps it was a paranoid fear of an argument forming that caused Zoey to intervene?

"Yes, I'm only joking," she sighed, "Can't deny I enjoy winning, or telling people I've won, but I'm not seriously having a go at Andrew, you know. Like he said, those auditions were brutal, and I'm sure he enjoyed them just as much as I did, despite the results."

"Exactly, and when I got my first leading role, it meant all the more because of how hard it was to get it!" Andrew nodded knowingly to Elyse. Once he'd hit his stride in S4, he'd never looked back. Zoey, though, seemed perturbed. Evidently, she wasn't a fan of the auditions.

"Well, you two are just weird, then; you make it sound like auditions are the best parts of the shows!"

"Of course they're not. The best part is the applause at the end of the show, when you get to hear the audience show you how wonderful they think you are!"

"You know, Thera…I feel like I should be surprised to hear you say that, but, no. I'm just not."

"Oh, Josue, tell me you don't love it!" Thera glided up and down the pier. She was clearly only half on this planet and half on stage again, in her mind. "All that hard work finally giving you your reward – the adulation of a loving crowd, who just want more and more. You can't beat it, no way!" It was no surprise to her friends that she felt this was the best part of performing; much as she liked to pretend otherwise, fame was irresistible to her. She was completely convinced she deserved applause. Tall and thin, she took great pride in her consistently casual appearance. "Understated," she claimed. This might have been more believable to Josue if she didn't insist on telling people the look she was going for so often.

"No, no, guys. The best part of the shows? The scandals, easily. Go on, tell me I'm wrong, I dare you." Confident words from Darren, as ever, who saw begrudging smiles cross the faces of his friends. Even Thera seemed to think he had a point, with the only dissent coming from Zoey.

"You're actually saying you enjoy all that chaos?"

"Oh, come on, what's a drama club without a little 'drama,' Zoey?" A sly smile, but Zoey just stared blankly at him.

"Hey, maybe I'm crazy, but I'd rather just see drama on the stage than off it, strange as that may sound."

"It doesn't sound strange; I just think you take things too seriously sometimes. Well, ok, fair enough, it's a bit fucked up at the time, but looking back on it, you've got to laugh! Come on, you know it's true!" This was typical of Darren, the kind of guy known for smooth-talking anyone who disagreed with him into changing their mind. Truthfully, it was bravado rather than genuine confidence, but none of the others needed to know that. "Anyway, do you guys remember the Wizard of Oz thing from S5? Now you can't say that wasn't funny. Not at the time, maybe, but looking back, it definitely was!" He figured it was best to move the conversation forward, before Zoey could respond.

"What, with Dorothy having an affair with the Tin Man? Aww, man, that was an actual legend! Total Hollywood-scale scandal, I thought the whole show would be affected!"

"It nearly was, remember, Charlie? Dorothy – I mean Sarah's – boyfriend turning up to the opening night, having previously told her he wasn't going to be there?"

"See, Zoey? I knew you thought the drama was fun!" said Darren. She wasn't impressed, but couldn't stop herself blushing. Much as she did hate the drama, this one was pretty funny in retrospect.

"Fine, okay, it's worth a smile, looking back."

"Controversial from the start, I told Mr Quirrel he should never have cast Brett. He's a sleazy waster who can't act to save his life, how did he ever get the part?"

Though he sounded a little like he was whinging, Charlie wasn't alone in despising Brett. A sycophantic power-hungry opportunist, a failed attempt at a political coup caused him to walk out of school a couple of months into S6. So had Sarah, actually, the other leading role in this particular scandal, but she had the legitimate excuse of a gap year before university. The memory of his leaving seemed to improve Charlie's mood somewhat.

"You know, though, I'm amazed he didn't just leave school straight after the play, given he had zero credibility left, and indeed was lucky he didn't have zero teeth left. Oh ho ho!" Andrew sighed and looked into the middle distance wistfully. "Och, you know, I had my chance actually, to give him a good smack and couldn't be bothered in the end, why did I not just do it?"

"Hmm, let's see. Because it's illegal, because you'd be arrested, because he's not what you'd call skinny so he would punch you back, because he's not worth it and you're better than him…want me to go on?"

"What, in response to my rhetorical question that was in no way directed to you? No, thank you, you can leave it at that, Sister Zoey."

"She's right, but – we _are _better than him, and we know it, that's what makes this whole thing so funny, since he thought we liked him! Hell, he thought we didn't know about Sarah!"

"Charlie, I take it you do realise we'd be laughing less right now if you _weren't_ his confidante throughout the scandal, right?"

George had stayed quiet for a while, watching the byplay between his friends with amusement. Cutting a somewhat unkempt figure, he could really have done with a shave and clothes that actually fit him, since he'd lost a lot of weight in the last year or so, yet not bothered to get new clothes. It had become something of a signature for him, though, so he wasn't concerned about it. He wasn't really concerned about anything, come to think of it.

A disorganised joker, he just wanted to enjoy life. There was resourcefulness within the disorganisation, however, which is how he'd discovered that Charlie had known about the affair for longer than almost everyone. For some reason, though, he'd kept it quiet, masquerading as Brett's friend even though he, like everyone else in the drama club, hated him passionately.

Poor Charlie. Such a nice guy, yet so easily taken advantage of. George had known him since primary school and he'd always been really shy, only coming out of his shell when they both found the Drama Club in S1. Since then, he'd been a bit…fluctuating. He hated being forced into doing anything, but if gently requested, he'd do anything for anyone, and that didn't always work out so well for the guy unfortunately known as "the drama bitch." This situation was unfortunately a case in point.

He meant well, of course, he always did. But even though he was never strictly speaking on Brett's side, he gave the impression he was by not telling his girlfriend, or Sarah's boyfriend, what was going on behind their backs. It meant he came across as trying to rebuild broken bridges when he later started publically criticising him, even though it was what he'd felt all along. Remembering this, his friends tried and failed to avoid laughing.

"Look, I know what you're thinking, but – "

"Here, let me take that shovel off your hands, mate, you don't need to hang onto it!"

"Thanks, Darren, you're a true friend!" Darren mimed taking a shovel out of Charlie's hands. Charlie mimed pulling it away from his hands at the last minute and beating him over the head with it.

"You think you so smart, you think you can get away with making a fool outta me?" Charlie was of Sicilian descent, and his frequent reaction to mockery was to play-act as a Mafia member. The acting and accent were sound; sadly, though, his tan appearance and curly black hair reminded anyone doubting that it was a parody. The strangeness just made it all the more amusing, of course. Playing along, Darren happily acted the beaten down subordinate.

"Don O'Keefe, I'm begging ya, spare my life already, I'll do anything, anything!" His hands in a praying position, Darren was soon on his hands and knees pretending to kiss Charlie's feet. That proved too much and Charlie fell away laughing. It was hard for Darren to be more out of character than that, nobody ever saw him as anything other than confident and charismatic. Well, apart from his all-too-frequent angry outbursts, but aside from that…

Although truthfully, Charlie believed that Darren was giving away more of himself in such pastiches than he realised. He seemed to have a thing for Thera, given how he looked at her. Thera was forever unaware, though. It wasn't like she was short on male attention, and she loved every bit of it, even if she was too ditzy to even notice it a lot of the time. He wouldn't put it past her to just assume that any given male was interested in her. Darren unfortunately had no chance; it would take someone capable of controlling Thera to handle her, and however well his acting suggested to the contrary, he just wasn't that guy.

As Darren got up, Charlie became serious for a moment again.

"I think you guys have forgotten the part where I actually did tell all of you about Brett and Sarah in the end, eh?"

"Oh yeah, I remember that! Six weeks after you found out, by which time Henry already knew, as did Maggie!" Elyse knew Brett's girlfriend, she was in the year above her own, and she'd already told her by the time Charlie cracked. She'd been a bit annoyed, though, to learn that Charlie had kept it private all that time.

"Alright, Elyse, we're supposed to be rekindling fond memories of times gone by, not attacking each other needlessly."

"Tch, aww, you're not annoyed at me because I made a quip about Leah earlier, are you?" Josue rolled his eyes with a wry smile as Elyse exchanged devious glances with him and Thera.

"Oh, alright, I'm sorry Charlie, do you forgive me?" Eye rolling turned to face palming as she gave him puppy dog eyes. Charlie just looked at her, shaking his head with an "I'm not going to dignify that with a response," smile.

"You know, while we're on the subject of nice happy reconciliations, gotta say how happy I was when Sarah and Henry said they were staying together!" Andrew had been about to resume mocking Charlie, but Thera had a good point. A few weeks after the show had ended, and the furore had died down, both couples eventually managed to forgive each other. Maggie, it turned out, had been cheating on Brett anyway, and so both agreed that one cancelled out the other. Henry just acted above and beyond the call of duty, as all were agreed on. Sarah's friends may have turned on her for betraying him, but no-one was unhappy he forgave her. Sometimes a little bit of good news in the world was what people needed to restore their faith in humanity, if only for another few days. A chorus of "Agreed" cries was heard as the group all nodded to each other.

"Even if Brett did get dumped for good when he cheated on her again 6 months later," added Elyse.

"That's called…what's that word, those weird hippies use it…karma, I think?" Thera looked towards Zoey for confirmation, apparently failing completely to notice the sullen glare she was giving her.

"Yes, that's the one, and yes, that's what it seems to be," she replied through gritted teeth, aware that George was mentally telling her not to lose her cool and that Thera was just an idiot.

"Still, Henry and Sarah are still together, so that's something, right?" Ever the hopeless romantic, Thera could always be relied upon to lighten the mood if nothing else. It seemed everyone in the group hoped that wherever they ended up after high school, someone like her would be around. That was how she perceived it anyway, given how they were looking at her.

At that moment, though, Josue looked at his watch. He glanced over towards the harbour, and noticed people starting to migrate back towards the bus.

"Well, guys, I hate to be the bearer of bad news, but looks like our time in Oban's just about up! Wanna head back on over?"

"What, you mean it's time to go enjoy our amazing school trip instead of sitting on a rock in the middle of nowhere with you? What a pity."

"And there was me thinking you loved me, Darren."

"Keep on dreaming, Andrew – and _don't,_ for the love of God, give me a mental image I'd have to hurt you for thinking. Let's go."

Resisting the attempts of Charlie and Thera to skip down the pier Yellow Brick Road-style, the group arrived back at the bus to discover that about half the class had already arrived. There, they found that dinner was served – the front of the bus had apparently been holding a couple of large coolers with sandwiches in them. It was first come, first served, and word soon spread to the scattered students of the offer. Twenty minutes after the Drama Club turned up, the final stragglers were going after the last of the food. Morgan and the bus driver, meanwhile, had apparently brought a thermos flask and instant noodles with them, and were sitting on the bonnet admiring the evening sun.

With everyone fed and watered, the school trip could finally begin. The atmosphere on the bus, though, was subdued. It had been a nice relaxing day in Oban, but it had also been a long day, and considering the holiday was supposed to have started by now, the waiting had exhausted many of the students.

On board the ferry, the students were given permission to walk around freely. None wanted to, however, and before the boat had even left port, every one of them was asleep. Stepping off the bus to stretch his legs, the driver looked for a moment at the bodies strewn across the seats and floor, then at Morgan.

"How did you do it? The food?"

"Ask no questions and you shall hear no lies," came the reply, as cold and emotionless as could be managed. Noticing his daughter hanging out of her seat, he gently kissed Holly on the forehead and silently walked away.

Now alone upon the bus, the 2019 6th Years of St. Barnabus College, Perth, lay peacefully in place. None knew of events now taking place on the mainland. None knew that tomorrow the world would wake up to see them as its headline. None knew anything other than the blissful dream world into which they had entered, hoping never to leave…


	4. Hour 0: Awaken Unto the Nightmare

**Hour 0: Awaken Unto the Nightmare**

As the ferry pulled into the harbour, Pete Morgan left the bus and was immediately met by a uniformed officer, with a dozen or so soldiers all standing to attention just behind him. He had a very official demeanour and a grizzled, cynical look in his eye. He seemed to be relishing what was about to happen and immediately addressed Morgan.

"Peter Morgan, Head of Year for the 2019 6th Year Class of St. Barnabus College, Perth?" He had a thick Edinburgh accent.

"That's right." He turned to the bus driver, who seemed uncertain as to what to do next. "And this is -"

"Sir, I have no interest in your driver, only your passengers and yourself. He may entertain himself on the ferry as he sees fit until it returns to the mainland. As for you, allow me to introduce myself. I am Lieutenant James Andrew Stevenson, and you may call me...whatever you like, actually. I am in charge of security and infrastructure over the course of this event, and am to assist you howsoever I can. I am at your command, and so, therefore, are my men." He seemed conflicted as to how formal he should be. Not used to taking orders from a school teacher, evidently.

"Well, thank you, Lieutenant. Just a small detachment you have, then?"

"Ha ha, no, just a small escort to take you to the school building. The rest are making final preparations there. I have to say, you know, I'm rather excited about the prospect of these proceedings, how about you? I should think it will be very interesting to see how it turns out! Of course, the inevitable reduction in crime once the feral youth realise they cannot hope to stand against us will also be a blessing from Heaven to see!

"Quite, although I can't help but admit part of me is still conflicted about all this...my own daughter is on the bus, you see."

"Ah, yes, so I heard. Well, I can understand that, it's only natural to feel such affection for one of your own." Neither his voice nor eyes betrayed even the slightest hint of empathy. "Now, while I may not have children myself, I too have faced situations where I've been forced to go against my natural instincts and principles in order to serve my country as best I can. This is what you must do, Mr. Morgan. You are serving your country in doing this, and in a very great way, and if your daughter should die, it will be for a spectacular good indeed. Besides, you never know, she might live! I hear Holly is very popular - not having enemies is a good way to be in a situation like this!"

If this was an attempt at reassurance, it was insulting; if it was a joke, it wasn't funny. Morgan ignored the remark completely and decided to get on with things. Having met Stevenson, the prospect of three days in this school now seemed somehow even worse than it had before.

"Right, well, much to do, so let's get to HQ, shall we?"

Stevenson looked at Morgan cautiously. Perhaps this man was "straight down to business." If so, it was more than he expected from a civilian, even if he was so obviously ignorant of just how irrelevant his parental feelings were in consideration of his duty.

"Yes, of course! One of mine shall drive the bus; your man can leave us now. Parker!" he barked over to one of his troops. "Take us to the school and be quick about it!"

"Sir, yes, sir!" came the reply.

"Calum, feel free to have a wander around the ferry, I think it goes back in a couple of hours. Thanks very much for all you've done."

"No problem, I think I'll do that." The driver smiled at Morgan "Sir," he said, gesturing to Stevenson as he walked past. Stevenson just growled and hurried his men onto the bus. Out of the corner of his eye, Morgan noticed Calum running ever-faster. Small wonder he felt uncomfortable. He was a lucky man, getting to leave so soon.

The journey to the school didn't take long. Stevenson was babbling all the while, telling Morgan and any of his soldiers who would listen about his history and his career. Very self important and very uninteresting, thought Morgan. When they arrived, a couple dozen more troops boarded the bus and removed the unconscious students. Morgan was instructed to make himself at home in the school, so he went inside to take a look around.

It was a small, unimposing building, combining the functions of a Nursery, Primary and Secondary school. The staff room had been turned into a command centre, and a few soldiers were still hurriedly arranging cables and testing equipment. A few of them were mumbling things like "Stevenson will kill us," so clearly he had them running scared.

He had raised a good point, though - his duty had to come first, and his own life would be forfeit if he tried to interfere with proceedings for the sake of his daughter. Oh, Holly...her mother was so angry at him for this that she'd insisted he not be in the house for the final few days beforehand. It wasn't his fault, of course, and he'd tried to get out of it, but to no avail. It was only natural that his wife would blame him. He'd claimed it was a teacher's conference and left for a few days to reflect on what he was about to do. He had to think of his duty and his reward - he'd be paraded as a hero if things went well. A shining example to teachers everywhere, that's what they'd say, he was told. No way out, so he knew he'd just have to believe that and hope, desperately, that she would survive.

Having unpacked his things, had a coffee, and attempted to relax for a little in the staffroom, Stevenson marched in, again, somewhat pompously, with an escort. Morgan looked at his watch. It was time.

"Mr. Morgan, sir! It is time to begin our proceedings, I will escort you to the classroom where we have placed the students; they are starting to wake up now."

Morgan sighed, and stayed still a moment. Stevenson just looked at his watch and growled at him. "_Yes, yes, I'm coming, there's no need to rush!"_

"Very well," he said, standing up at last, "Let's get this over and done with."

That one wasn't received very well. Stevenson opened his mouth as if to berate him, then, realising it would accomplish nothing, just turned and walked towards the door. He gestured for Morgan to lead and, donning a more exuberant expression (which seemed to please Stevenson greatly), he did so. No more delays.

Composing himself in the hallway ahead of what he was about to do, Pete Morgan powered down several corridors of the school that was his home for the next several days and strolled authoritatively into a classroom. He was followed closely by Lieutenant Stevenson and a couple dozen soldiers, all carrying assault rifles. Two were holding large top hats and put them on the desk. Standing guard against the back wall, some of the soldiers exchanged nervous glances; they knew what was to come, but could hardly comprehend it. Some of the students were already awake, stumbling around in the darkness as they tried to establish their surroundings. A soldier switched the light on, and Morgan's voice boomed out.

"Good morning, everyone!"

"Uhhh? What time is it?"

"Where am I?"

"It's too early, isn't it?"

Without warning, Stevenson raised an air horn and blasted it several times. Much to his annoyance, Morgan himself flew back in surprise. That certainly woke the rest of them up. They fumbled around, some of them noticing strange collars around their necks, with several of them trying to pull them off to no avail. Before Morgan could say anything though, Stevenson screamed,

"He said, '_Good morning, everyone_!'"

That got their attention. Anyone still sleeping certainly wasn't now. Noticing the large number of machine guns pointed at them, they all faced Morgan and the unknown loud angry man beside him in horrified silence. The emotion drained from his face as he thought of the guns turning on him if he failed in his duty. "Leave this to me – I am in command," he whispered to Stevenson. '_Ineffectual fool, civilians should never have been placed in charge of this operation,'_ came the unspoken response. '_But now is not the time to show weakness, not if what I hear about some of these traitors is true_.' Stevenson smiled sarcastically and took a step back.

"As you know, I'm Pete Morgan, Head of Year for you, the 6th Years of 2019 of St. Barnabus College, Perth. I know you were expecting a class trip to celebrate your leaving school, but unfortunately, we've had to cancel it. You've still come to Caphraig and you'll still be here for a few days, don't worry about that. But I'm afraid you're not going to be lazing about and getting drunk on the beach.

Scott Irving wasted no time in getting to his feet. Morgan desperately hoped this wouldn't get too serious, though he had expected the Anti-Clique to at least try and throw a spanner in the works. '_This early, though_?'

"What the fuck is going on here, sir? We're supposed to be on holiday, what's with the Army?" he shouted.

"Scott Irving, sit DOWN! If you give me 30 seconds, I'm about to explain what's going on, now shut up!" barked Morgan. Stevenson seemed impressed by the show of authority, though almost saddened that Scott apparently obliged. Not quite knowing what to do, he sat down, embarrassed.

"Thank you. Now then, your generation is a great disappointment to the Government. While there are exceptions, many of you are rowdy, aggressive, you disobey authority at every turn - and BEFORE anyone tries to claim you're not like that, I'm sure you're all aware that 'some' of you have been arrested for anti-Government protests. Adam." A knowing look in his direction was met with an unimpressed glare.

"Sir, all our protests were peaceful and in accordance with the laws of this country, and I don't see what this has to do with cancelling our trip without telling us," he replied, surprisingly calmly for him, thought Morgan.

"Peaceful? Is 'peaceful' what you call a riot that causes £50,000 worth of damage to school property? Don't even think about justifying yourselves to me! You're not the only ones, though, even though you lot are considerably better behaved than a lot of the people who left in S4 or S5. No, I'm not going to name names, but there are a fair few examples in this year of the kind of profligate decadence that has seemingly come to iconify your generation. And the Government of this great country have finally had enough of it! They're sick of the protests, the defiance, and the inability to accept that things are as they are and that it's for a damn good reason! And I am telling you about your trip. I'm telling you now."

He felt the passion rising in his voice. That protest had reflected very badly on him, and while he didn't actually hate his charges as much as this speech was suggesting, past embarrassment was clearly coming out. He just needed to avoid looking at Holly too much and carry on in this way.

"In the wake of all the recent disorder, the Government has devised a special game, called the Battle Royale Program. It was conceived of by Japan and trialled by America, but both countries eventually decided on alternative means of restoring order to the streets. Here though we've already tried their solutions and failed, so an example is going to be made of your generation. You will all be making this example by competing in the Battle Royale Program. It's a game of sorts, and it has only one rule: you kill each other until only one of you is left alive. You have three days."

And pause, to let it sink in. Stunned silence roared across the class as Morgan and Stevenson watched it hit them. This would surely be a joke, except that there were a lot of guns pointed at the students. Many sat in cold silence, seeing immediately how serious this was. Rozelinda Mayfair was never one to show her emotions and her blank stare was typical. The more politically neutral member of the Anti-Clique, Kenji Kamin, likewise stared at the floor, barely able to look up.

Not far away Mark Johnson and Kim Magdalene seemed to be praying together, and beside them Peter Lucianus was meditating. Could God help them now? Perhaps He was the only one who could.

Others had no such outlet and simply dissolved in fear; Elyse Backman looked like she was about to start hyperventilating, with Zoey Volta, for whom death was her worst fear, having similar feelings. Nearby, Amber Canton had turned her back to the class completely and shut her eyes. Seeing this, Charlotte Turner put her arm around her shoulder, though she was herself terrified. Meanwhile Dave Clark and Jade Brown were locked in each other's arms on the other side of the classroom, their eyes looking nowhere but at each other as it had always been.

A few other students looked up at Morgan, desperate for some kind of assurance that this was some kind of cruel prank. They got none - he stared them down coldly. The soldiers moved forward slightly, raising their guns as if expecting resistance. But nobody moved. They were too shocked to do anything. Even Scott and fellow Anti-Clique member Adam Lewis just looked at each other, and at their classmates. What _was_ this?

"This...can't be...Dad?" Holly said weakly, barely able to even think it. Quite a few others waited for Morgan to admit that he wasn't serious.

"I'm so sorry, Holly," was the only, almost emotionless, reply. He consciously averted his gaze, looking her in the eye to apologise, but realising he couldn't bear to even look at her, his own daughter. The crushed look on her face said it all; it wasn't just that it was happening, it was because of her father. Her dad was sending her out to die. Something just wasn't right here!

"Now then, there is a bit more to this than just a mass slaughter, so allow me to explain more fully how the Program will work. He pulled down a chart in front of the blackboard. It was a map of the island in grid format, with the major landmarks like the Abbey and schools clearly designated. "It's a game, of sorts. This is Caphraig and we are here in the secondary school. During the Program, you may go anywhere you like on the island. You may not leave, however. No boats are in the harbour, and around the island are several military ships, which will catch you if you try to escape. If this happens, you will be executed immediately," Gasps of horror from the class. This was insane! Morgan gestured over to a couple of soldiers, who brought in what looked like a big luggage rack filled with very large rucksacks.

"To help you, you will each be given one of these bags. Parker, give me one, please. Any one will do. In it are the following items..." He opened the bag and put the contents on the desk. "A map, like this one, with a compass and pen. Bread and water. There's not much, but you'll be able to find more on the bodies of your dead classmates." '_Don't break stride and let them react to that, just keep going_,' he thought to himself. "A torch. And a weapon. The weapon you get will be random, and might be extremely powerful, or it might be less useful. Now, what do we have in this one? Hmm, a nail gun. Not very long ranged, but very dangerous if you get up close to someone. If you get this bag, I'd consider yourself lucky! As for the others, well, you'll just have to wait and see. Some weapons might require a bit of explaining, and others may need batteries or ammunition, so these and fully comprehensive instruction manuals are provided where appropriate. Some are also quite big, which is why the bags are all this size. It's all random, so there's no favouritism. Oh, and since some of you may need...personal items, you're all allowed to take your backpacks with you as well.

"Now, the other thing you're presumably waiting for me to explain is the collars wrapped around your neck, hmm?" Some of the students didn't seem to have noticed them until now, and tugged at them desperately. Others, who had already realised they weren't coming off, just sat in total silence with their eyes closed, as if trying to wish the world away. Yet a couple, Morgan noticed, seemed strangely curious to learn more…perhaps some of them would participate after all?

"These collars are our means of tracking you, along with the very large number of CCTV cameras located across the island. We also have satellites covering the island, so nowhere are you unseen. The collars have microphones as well, meaning we can also hear every word you say to each other. And, should it come to it, every dying scream."

That last remark might have been one too many. A couple of students had been forcing themselves to keep quiet, perhaps realising that anger wasn't going to do any good here, but enough was enough. Adam threw himself to his feet. "What the FUCK do you think you're doing? Why are you doing this, what have we done to deserve this? Our generation has its faults, as do we all, nobody's perfect. But forcing us to kill each other? Is our school really that bad? Tell me, 'sir,' why? Us?" he raged.

Stevenson drew his pistol from its holster right away and opened his mouth to retort, but Morgan was unfazed and raised a hand to hold him back. Looking ready to shoot Morgan instead, Stevenson reluctantly stepped back.

"Alright, Adam, you raise a fair question, actually. Why should it be you? Why this is happening at all I have already explained - your generation has no sense of authority, and you right now are questioning those to whom you should be listening; something you yourself have a long history of doing, need I remind you. We have tried rationale, we have tried reason, but you and your peers refuse to accept that you might be wrong. The government have now decided that a more forceful means of convincing you is required. No leadership can be tolerated in this country beyond the Government, and through this game it will be proven that none can exist." Morgan was still completely calm, completely unaffected by the incensed look of defiance on Adam's face. He wasn't used to this response; he was a natural debater, and thrived from getting a reaction from people and showing them up, as did the rest of his "Anti-Clique," especially when doing it together. But today was different. Today, Pete Morgan had a large number of armed guards; he just had to say the word and his opponent would be dead. Today, Adam had no bargaining power, and Morgan absolutely loved it.

"As for the second question, why your year? Well, the first thing I should say is that it wasn't my choice. Do not for a _second_ think that I would willingly sacrifice my daughter's life, even for the good of this country!" He stepped back a moment, putting water on the fire in his voice. Stevenson was horrified that he had just said that, which wasn't lost on Adam.

"Well, then why have you -"

"Because I must put aside my parental instincts in service of this great country," he retorted, cutting Adam off before he could get going again, "I cannot help what I feel for Holly as a father, but my duty as a father comes second to my duty as a servant of the Government. Duty requires sacrifice from time to time, and that is what I must do today." Adam stood open-mouthed, completely taken aback by this. Stevenson lit up at his words from earlier being repeated, while Holly was in tears in Rahne Southers' arms.

"As I was saying," he continued, not prepared to allow a rebuttal, "It was not my choice. It is one I will not oppose, but that's not the point. The point is that a random lottery was held amongst all the 6th year classes of this year, and St. Barnabus drew the short straw." Morgan sighed as he said this. It wasn't completely random, and he knew it. While all secondary schools were in the running, those with students who had been arrested or with abnormally bad disciplinary records were entered multiple times. As were those which had children of staff members in the year, as the Government considered such staff members less likely to object to the plans, due to the potential implications for their family should they fail to comply. It all added up to St. Barnabus, along with a few others that also scored highly in those categories, having an elevated chance of selection.

"So, every S6 class in the whole of the United Kingdom had an equal chance of selection. This is the first example, but multiple Programs exactly like this one will be held every year.

"And going back to my original point, the purpose of the Program is to prove that you cannot hope to resist this Government. After all, who in your class do you really trust? When you are forced to choose between your own life and that of your so-called 'friends,' where do you loyalties really lie?"

"Adam, sit down, you can't win this one and you know it!" Morgan beamed at this - Kim, while visibly extremely upset, at least appeared to recognise the seriousness of the situation. The Anti-Clique was divided - and Adam was clearly shaken by that.

"Kim, what are you saying? Time was you'd support me in this, why are all of you staying quiet? They're trying to force us to betray each other and ourselves, well, let me tell you that won't happen, I'm not going to allow that and neither should you!"

Silence. He looked around the class for support. "I can't stand alone here, we are as one, we are free people, not guinea pigs in some kind of fucked up experiment, not beacons to be used as an example to people who have done nothing wrong except stand up for their rights! I say to you Mr. Morgan, 'sir,' if you want my head on a mast, then I suggest you take it right now and be done with it!"

Morgan took a few moments to say nothing at all. He could see that Adam didn't have the support he expected, and there was nothing worse for a public speaker than his words falling on deaf ears. He wanted a reaction, both from the class and from Morgan himself, and received neither. Finally, Morgan spoke up.

"They're not listening to you. How does it feel to be on your own? You think you have friends, allies, people you can depend upon. Where are yours? Why are they not supporting you?"

"Well-"

"I'm asking the questions, so shut up and listen for a change! The reason they're not listening to you is because you're not worth listening to, your rhetoric has never had much substance, but all five of you have a way of making it sound otherwise. Now they're waking up to that. I'm not just talking to you, by the way; I know you're not alone. The Anti-Clique merely represent the year – you do all the political talking for them, so others don't have to bother. Perhaps that's the real reason none of the rest of you are standing up; you'd rather let someone else take all the risk, and pay the whole penalty.

"So I speak to all of you! You're all alone, none of you can really rely on the people you think you can. That is what the Program will show you. No opposition to the Government can be tolerated, because it is we, not you, who understand what is best for this country. I stand here as a representative of the Government on this island, therefore, no opposition to me can be tolerated either. You may consider that your final warning, Adam, Scott, Kenji, Kim, Mark, and anyone else unwisely thinking of saying even one more word."

Morgan's voice tensed. Behind him, the row of assault rifles clicked as the holders scanned the class, searching for any signs of movement. Adam was still standing, paralysed by fear, the others were looking nervous.

At the front of the class, Adam closed his eyes and tilted his head down. He was lost. He had nowhere to turn to, no allies to help him out. He thought of Holly. Her own father had betrayed her. He was such a nice guy, and now he'd done this to her, to all of them. Understandably, she was in even more of a state than everyone else by now, and all Adam wanted to do was run over to her and comfort her. He couldn't, though. Even now, the only one standing in front of a row of machine guns, he couldn't so much as look at the girl he cared for more than anyone. All he could do was try and reclaim his honour; if there were consequences to pay, so be it. It seemed a quick death was all anyone could hope for anyway, if everything really was as serious as Morgan was suggesting. He clenched his fist.

"Do you really expect us to let you get away with _murdering_ your own daughter?"

"Adam, I strongly suggest you-" Morgan stared Adam down, their eyes locked together. Holly didn't know what to think.

"No! I strongly suggest _you_ shut the _fuck_ up and listen to me for a moment!" Every gun in the room pointed at him. This time, however, he did not relent. Kim was audibly breathing with difficulty, and even Scott was speechless, wanting to stand up but finding that gravity held him down.

"I can't understand how you can call _us_ the traitors, when you, who have a duty of care toward us as your students, have arranged for us to be slaughtered. If the others aren't with me, then that's their choice to make – I'm choosing to tell you you're going to _fucking_ regret this."

"_Enough_!" Morgan had snapped. The look in his eyes had altogether changed. Even Stevenson looked slightly afraid. "I have given you warnings, I have been fair, I have been reasonable. Despite all of that, however, you continue to arrogantly defy me. And for that, you're now going to have to pay the penalty. Again, do not say I didn't warn you."

Morgan took a large step forward towards Adam, who appeared to instinctively try and move back a little before realising and stopping himself. Both were still staring each other down. Stevenson removed his pistol from its holster, marched forward and pressed the barrel to Adam's head. Horrified gasps echoed from the other students, as Adam himself tried desperately to remain calm. _'If this is to be my fate, then at least I shall be at peace; no more pain, no more pain!' _he thought to himself. His breathing deepened.

Stevenson turned to face Morgan, seeking approval. His gloved hand was unflinching. Morgan nodded silently, and Stevenson gestured with his free hand to two large identical top hats on the desk at the front of the classroom. Stevenson flipped the gun to the back of Adam's head, pressing the barrel hard against him, which caused him to flinch in pain. As he was forced to the front of the class, in front of the top hats, the rest of the class looked on in terror. Several more were crying, though Scott still looked as if he wanted to support his friend. Morgan took a deep breath and again addressed the class.

"It is with great regret that it has come to this. Despite what has been intimated, I care very deeply about each and every single one of you." His eyes were fixed on Holly, who was shaking her head in disbelief. She could scarcely believe that this was her father. "However, I did say that resistance would not be tolerated, and the large number of guns pointed at you should have proven I was serious. Nevertheless, Adam ignored that, clearly accepting the possibility that he would be punished for it, perhaps even killed. I'm not going to do that, though." He paused to allow confusion to sweep the class.

"After all, he is merely one of the Anti-Clique, whom you all admit are your political representatives. All matters political in the class, you go to them, if they haven't got there first. You expect them to do all the work, with credit being shared and blame exclusively theirs. You are fools to believe I do not see through that. Adam stood up not only because he wanted to, but because he was expected to, by all of you, any of whom could have said something, and indeed I do believe many of you wanted to, but chose not to. It would be unfair, therefore, to punish him alone for merely acting on behalf of you all. But what is fair? Well, chance is fair.

"So, I'm giving you all an equal chance." The horrified gasps had now turned to small cries, and very nervous looks. The guns clicked once again to silence everyone. "Adam, could you please draw for me now a single piece of paper from either of the two hats in front of you? If you don't, I will start shooting your arms and legs, so please do not think you can martyr yourself by way of escape." Realising he was truly beaten, he closed his eyes and removed a piece of paper. He couldn't bring himself to look inside.

"Thank you. Read what is written on the paper to the class, please." Looking, his jaw dropped as he turned to face Morgan. Stevenson reminded him not to do this by pressing again the gun to his head, and he turned back.

"It just says…Zoey Volta."

"Thank you, Adam. You may sit down now, and indeed better had." The butt of Stevenson's pistol cracked against Adam's skull, forcing him forwards. "Zoey, can you please stand up for me?"

Seeing that he had no choice in the matter, Adam sat down, dejected, having accomplished nothing. Zoey rose slowly to her feet, her eyes flitting between her classmates, looking for answers, but they knew as much as she did, and thus were no help.

"Wh…wh…what is this? What have I got to do wi – with any of this?" she said nervously. Her breathing was short and sharp, her eyes jumping awkwardly across the room. Morgan nodded to the man with the pistol in the middle of the room, who gave him a remote control-like box. Whatever that was, it almost certainly did not mean good news for her.

"What's that? What does it do?" She couldn't stop herself asking the question, even though she didn't want to know the answer. Starting to back away, her fellow students were in her way and she couldn't move far, especially considering every gun in the room was now pointed squarely at her.

"This is the other most important rule of the Program, that which I was about to explain before I was so rudely interrupted. The collars exist as a tracking mechanism. They also exist as a controlling mechanism, in order to prevent any would-be insurrectionists from attempting to interfere with these proceedings. I had sincerely hoped that merely explaining this would be sufficient, but alas, certain of you proved otherwise, and a demonstration is now needed." Stevenson nodded in approval as he said this, but he was telling the truth; he had hoped a demonstration would prove unnecessary. Unfortunately, though, those organising the Program seemed insistent it would be.

"But I didn't do any-"

"That's not the point. You did nothing to stop the ones who did anything, and that makes you as guilty as they." He paused a moment. He seemed to be trying to communicate with her telepathically, a single unspoken thought – _'I'm sorry.'_ He pressed a button on the remote-like object, and a loud beeping began. As the soldiers tensed their hands on their weapons, the students looked about to see where it was coming from. It didn't take long to establish it was Zoey, or, more specifically, the collar locked tightly around her neck. Morgan remained calm as he explained.

"The collars contain microphones, as I've said. But they're also filled with highly compacted plastic explosive, which I can detonate through the radio links in the microphones. Any sign whatsoever of any of you threatening the integrity of the Program and I can push this button, and then thirty seconds later…well, you'll see in about ten seconds."

Morgan bade the soldiers stay still as Zoey ran frantically about the classroom, desperately tugging at the collar. It was locked in place however, and wouldn't budge. "Help me, somebody please help me, oh God anybody, _please_!" she screamed. Most of the class backed away from her; Charlie O'Keefe and George Ryan each grabbed half of the collar and pulled as hard as they could, to no avail.

At last, running anywhere she could, she hit a wall very hard and bounced off it, throwing Charlie and George aside. As the collar flatlined, Zoey faced the class, turned to the sky and uttered a single word, "Gaia!" At that moment, a small explosion sent a plume of flesh, blood, bone and metal through the air in front of her, covering a number of students. As her body fell sideways to the ground, blood poured from the six-inch hole that was formerly her throat. Backing away as quickly as they could, the other students watched in open-mouthed horror as a stream of blood trickled forward through the classroom. At its mouth, the body of Zoey Volta fell onto its back, her now empty eyes locked on the ceiling.

Silence swept the class. No one knew what to say, not even Morgan, Stevenson or his troops, some of whom turned sharply away to resist the urge to vomit. There was always a strong possibility that this might happen, they'd been told that in advance, and as soldiers, this was hardly the first killing any of them had seen. Somehow, though, this was different from the rest. A young girl, in the prime of her life, begging just to keep it. Cast down in an instant, for the sins of those she never knew.

At the front of the class, Adam lurched forward as if to try and say something, or even just stand up. He managed neither and found himself fumbling on the floor, unable to look at men in front of him or even his friends. He seemed to be wittering to himself, mumbling who knew what?

He was, however, merely one of a number of students who wanted to protest, but either could not or dared not. Jake Wilson couldn't move a muscle; beside him sat his best friend, Alexander Vasselin, who was struggling to hold himself together.

Even the typically surly couldn't help but be affected, with the queens of sardonism Laurinda Davies and Hannah Bishop dumbstruck by what they were seeing. Even Natasha Checketts, never the most empathetic of people, seemed saddened while boyfriend Olly King discovered there were some situations not even he could make jokes about.

Among the first to react with anything other than open-mouthed horror was Jenna Widdowson, who immediately pulled Jemi Britcher and Rem Remnant close. "Whatever happens, we stick together, got that? Hunter or hunted, that's all we can be, and the hunted die," she hissed in a low, fast-paced whisper. They looked at each other, first warily then confidently. So this was real? Fine, no one could stop the three of them together anyway.

On the other side of the room, meanwhile, Holly felt like the world had just ended. Had her father just murdered someone? He did it so calmly, just pushed a button and a girl she'd known and he'd taught for six years was gone, instantly. Was this even her dad? He just wasn't capable of this!

Fighting back the conscious realisation that he had just murdered a girl, Morgan forced himself to retain his authority over the class before anyone could overcome the shock sufficiently to try and resist. Stevenson, clearly the only person in the room able to at least appear stoical, stared him down from behind with a stern glare, also passed to his soldiers. Finally, Morgan spoke up.

"That, everyone, is why it is folly to resist. I'm not going to insult you by apologising for that, but I do mean it when I say I wish I had a choice in the matter." His words echoed hollow, but nobody was yet composed enough to retort. "There are three more rules left to explain. First, I stated earlier that you have three days in which to complete the Program by leaving only one survivor. If more than one of you lives beyond 72 hours of the first of you leaving this classroom, all remaining collars will be detonated, meaning no one will survive.

"Second, you will see that this map is divided into a grid. Certain areas of this grid will start to become unavailable to you at six hourly-intervals. These are called Danger Zones and once active do not cease to be so until the Program has ended. Should you enter one once it has activated, your collar will be automatically detonated. Initially, there will be only one such Zone; that in which this school is located. It will activate shortly after the last of you enters the field of play. The others are random, so you'll be told about them shortly prior to activation.

"That will occur on a six hourly basis, this being the other rule I must tell you about. Every six hours, I will come on an intercom, audible through the many speakers secreted around Caphraig, to make an announcement. This is when I will tell you which of your fellow students have died, in the order of their deaths, so that you can update your list and track your progress. I will also tell you who killed each person, to give you a better idea as to who you can trust. This will include myself, should any unfortunate such incidents occur such as that with Zoey, who will therefore be the first named in the first announcement. The announcements will also reveal new danger zones at the rate of one every two hours, with the first activating one hour after the report. That will give you plenty of time to clear the area should you be in one. Oh, and leaving an active danger zone once you've entered it will not prevent detonation, the only way to avoid that is to stay out in the first place."

Morgan paused momentarily, looking to Stevenson to see if he'd missed anything obvious from his explanation of the rules. "Well, it looks like I've covered everything now. Remember – no laws apply during the Program except those specific to it, such as that prohibiting escape. You may commit any act whatsoever to yourself or each other, and should you survive, you will not be prosecuted. Ironic though it may seem, you have more freedom over the next three days than has had any human being on Earth since the dawn of civilisation. Think about that.

"Since I've now finished explaining the rules, and since I think it's reasonable to assume there will be no more protests, if anyone has any questions, you may raise your hand while remaining seated, and I will do my best to answer them. Anyone?" Morgan looked cautiously across the room as he spoke; he desperately hoped he wasn't tempting fate with his confidence about no more protesting. Everyone in the class sat silently still though, apart from Adam, who looked disturbed to an extent beyond the usual reaction to witnessing a murder. He was shaking and muttering random gibberish to himself, oblivious to the world, such as the few students tentatively raising their hands.

"Yes, Manuel?"

"I-I don't belong here. I'm going to be a doctor, I'm going to save people, not kill them! Can't you just let me go home?" Suddenly Manuel Noles' acute lack of friends seemed more serious than it had before. Being an innately anti-social person who focussed on his studies had always seemed of benefit until now, but with few people who might protect him and very little by way of physical strength, he had to find a way of being excused from this before it began.

"Of course you can go home. But only once you've killed all your classmates. Your friends, enemies, people you like, people you don't -"

"But I can't _do_ that! That's not who I am!"

"Well, you might be unable or unwilling to kill, but I suspect some of your colleagues can. And I'm afraid you'll need to fight them and win in order to survive. Actually, this is something you should all remember – you've got to ask yourself the questions, 'Would you kill your best friend, and can you save yourself?'" Manuel flopped back to the floor forlornly as Morgan surreptitiously cast his eye over several students, some of whom already seemed to be formulating plans. He acknowledged another question, this time from Layne Diallo.

"What about our parents? Who's going to tell them what's happened? Are they going to know the truth?" Layne was the younger of two twins, with his brother Richard. Born in Somalia, but adopted at an early age by a Scottish family, they felt a fierce loyalty to the people who gave them a second chance at life.

"Your families will all be informed this morning. The rest of the world will discover on the evening news, but be assured, your relatives will be the first to know, and comprehensive plans to support them and to help them understand how important this event is will be provided." Layne was not entirely happy with that answer, but Morgan cut him off before he could ask another question.

"Any more?"

"Yeah, Dad." Morgan nearly fell backwards as Holly stood up with as much force as she could muster.

"Holly…"

"How could you do this to me?" She was in tears, but fought through them to say this.

"Look, I really-"

"You've been trying to avoid me for months now, fighting with your family, you got thrown out your own home last week…who are you and what have you done with my dad? We love you, and yet you betrayed us. All I wanted was to know why, but you wouldn't even say hello to me the last few weeks…"

With that, she was unable to carry on, unable even to fall onto Rahne at her back. Kim broke her fall, and they both helped her to the ground, shielding her from the sight of her father. Morgan had also lost his capacity to cope, having been taken completely by surprise by Holly's broadside. Stevenson was fuming behind him, having none of the sympathy for him that Holly's friends had for her. Morgan was just relieved she hadn't told everyone her mother knew about the Program in advance, which she'd obviously established as the reason for his leaving the house a week ago.

"Alright, Question Time's over! Time to begin, it's nearly midnight." He sounded much more aggressive than he did a moment ago, but nobody had time to react. He pointed to the hats on the desk, the ones from which Zoey's name had been drawn.

"Now then, these two hats contain all of your names. On the right are all the boys' names, and on the left the girls'. I am going to pick out names, at random, alternating gender, and when I pick yours you will quickly and quietly get up, take a rucksack and leave the classroom. As soon as you leave you are participating in the Program, which begins as soon as the first of you leave. There is no introductory period in which you cannot attack each other, the rules of the Program are in force straight away. You may not do so inside this building, however, armed guards are in place to ensure you don't. I have already proven what happens when you try to be a hero, so do not think you can take your weapon and run back in here with it. Random students will be executed should anyone attempt this." Morgan was visibly shaken, and clearly desperate to have some time and space to himself after all this. Barely pausing for breath, he drew the first name.

"Male student number one in Battle Royale Caledonia is Richard Diallo."

Richard looked stunned, clearly not expecting to leave first. Noticing that everyone was slowly edging away from him, and that the gunmen were aiming at him, he crept towards Morgan and the large array of rucksacks beside him. As a soldier threw one at him, he caught it awkwardly, took one last nervous look at his classmates, and ran off into the night.

Instantaneously, Peter Morgan looked calmer. He had taken the first step. Richard's exiting the class signalled the start of proceedings at exactly midnight. Battle Royale Caledonia had finally begun.


	5. Hour 1: Twin Veils Ignorance

**Hour 1: Twin Veils – Ignorance**

It was a cold night on the island of Caphraig, as Richard Diallo was just discovering. Stepping outside the classroom, he took a few nervous steps forward and turned back briefly. Several armed men just inside the doorway ensured there was no return. He didn't want to go back there, anyway, not with the body of Zoey Volta staring at everybody.

He was the first to leave the classroom - that meant he was all alone out here. It also meant, though, that he had a head start on everyone else. Yes, that had to be taken advantage of. He didn't believe himself capable of killing anyone. He was easygoing, a joker who didn't take life nearly as seriously as his twin brother, Layne. But other people might be willing to kill, and since nobody else had the chance he did to avoid all that, it was time to run. So run he did, not knowing where, not caring where. There would be a time and a place to figure out how he was going to approach the situation; outside the classroom, moments before he was joined by who knew who else, was not it.

Back inside the classroom, Peter Morgan announced that a minute or two would be allowed to pass between each student's exit. With the constantly clicking machine guns held by the intimidating group of soldiers at the front of the class suppressing the common desire to scream, many of the students were either struggling to hold back the tears, failing to do so, or else eying each other nervously. Moments later, Morgan silently drew a name from the second hat on the desk.

"Female student number one, Rozelinda Mayfair."  
Emotionless as ever, Roz took one last look around the class as she moved to collect her bag. It was impossible to know what she was thinking a lot of the time, and even this was no exception. Saying nothing, she calmly exited the class.

Morgan felt relieved that the first two students had left without incident. He had successfully put the fear of God into his now former charges, but the understandably distressed looks on their faces was difficult to bear. The closest he would get to peace during the next three days was, he felt, in the minutes (perhaps hours) between the last of the students leaving and the killing beginning. Until then, he just had to endure.

"Male student number two - Kevin Hetfield."

As Kevin stood up, Shanae Preston gripped his hand tightly. "Kevin, I love-" she tried to say.

"Don't. Anything you say to me will only sound like goodbye," he interrupted, unclasping her hand from his own. Collecting his bag, he turned back to face her before leaving the class, adding, "Shanae - I love you too."

As the school door slammed behind him, Kevin found himself in more light than was safe right now due to a couple of floodlights shining onto the playground. He wasn't sure whether he was in a good position by leaving early, meaning there weren't as many immediate threats about, or if he wanted to leave later and so make it easier to find allies. Seconds later he was gone, reasoning that either way he had nothing to gain by remaining where he was.

A few moments later, Elyse Backman felt her heart rate increase exponentially as she heard her name announced as female student number two. Breathing fast and heavily, she stumbled quickly to her feet, nearly falling over twice in the process. "_This can't be real this can't be real!"_ The rotting corpse of her friend just metres away from her indicated otherwise. She skittered to the front of the class almost as if she were on roller-skates, nervously eyeing up her classmates. Her only hesitation in leaving the school was to hold her glance on Morgan for a few seconds, as if he might tell her that this was all a sick joke and that the holiday was going ahead as planned. No such luck. He merely stared back at her with cold and emotionless eyes. She couldn't see he was fighting desperately to force himself to do this; to her and many others, it was as simple as him betraying them all. And he knew it.

Elyse took her bag and silently sprinted down the corridor as fast as she could. She needed a plan, and she needed one fast. Dazzled momentarily by the unexpected light in the playground, she hurried around the corner to see what was in her bag. Time was short - the next student wouldn't be far behind.

Back inside, male student number three was Manuel Noles, and like Elyse, he was visibly terrified about what was to come. Beside him, Alyssa Davids clearly wanted him not to have to go. He was a studious guy who couldn't hurt a fly; how did someone like him belong in this situation? Truth be told, almost nobody belonged here, but especially not Manuel.

Manuel edged his way slowly towards the door, nearly collapsing under the weight of his pack. He forlornly repeated again to Morgan, "But I can't kill anyone!"

"Nobody's forcing you to. But you won't be able to go home unless you do, so I'm afraid you're going to have to try if you want to live." There was a hint of sadness in his voice. Manuel felt his heart drop like a ten-tonne weight as his last hope of reprieve disappeared. Turning towards the door, he knew what he had to do. Run. Run straight through it and not stop, maybe ever if that was what it took.

Taking a deep breath, he charged as a soldier at the other end of the corridor opened the door. A bright white light shone into the school doorway. It was almost the last thing Manuel Noles ever saw.

Instinctively falling forward to the floor as he crossed the doorway, a flash of black light flew past his eyes. He barely had time to register what it was or who held it, but it looked large and heavy. Sharp panic took him as he dodged a second swing of the unwieldy weapon. Lacking time to try and find somewhere to hide outside the school, he saw no alternative to trying to get back in.

Picking himself up, he tried the bar across the door. "_Locked. I can't get back in! What now?"_ He banged against the door a few times, desperate for it to open. It did not. Instead time froze for a moment as Manuel's life flashed before his eyes. Moving to Scotland. His mother dying of cancer when he was 12, inspiring him to become a doctor. The long nights spent studying for his dream. The reward of a place in Glasgow University's medical school. And relaxing by watching films with his friends. Those were good times; if only he could return to them again.

It was then that the right side of Manuel's face exploded as the next swing of his assailant's weapon at last connected with its target. It felt warm for a fraction of a second as he died, never knowing what exactly happened to him.

As flesh, blood, bone, and what little remained of Manuel's right eyeball scattered across the doorframe, he collapsed to the floor. Lodged in his skull was a large spiked ball, attached to a chain held by Elyse. Having to put a foot on his body to remove the weapon, part of what remained of his face collapsed inwards as she did so, with crunching and squelching indicating that bits of brain were now sliding gently across the floor. Elyse was shaking but otherwise rooted to the floor, her blood-soaked implement lightly swaying in front of her.

Moments earlier, she had moved quickly to find out what weapon she had been given. Whatever it was, it was bulky and heavy; that was probably a good thing. Her eyes lit up as she saw her prize - a full-sized spiked ball and chain. Hurriedly removing the thick foam packaging, she felt the weight of the weapon in her hands. It felt kinda good, actually.

So this was a competition, yeah? A "game," that was what they called it. Well, if there was one thing Elyse Backman did well, it was competitions. Losing…no, that couldn't be allowed to happen. You lose here, you die! You win - you live, you go free. Highest stakes ever, and only one winner. She had to move fast, though; while she doubted everyone would have what it took to be a serious threat, there were certainly some out there who would.

So she stood in front of the school, getting good speed and power in the spiked ball and chain, ready to end the challenge of whoever came out next. Her first reaction was sorrow for having done it, but there were two more significant factors: first, she could have killed a friend, which she really wanted to avoid at first; second, Manuel was a nice, quiet, studious boy, and you always had to beware the nice ones. They were the ones who could go unexpectedly crazy on you whenever.

Regaining her senses a little, she stumbled back, sliding on a pool of blood. She was still staring at the corpse when she finally released her emotions with a deafeningly loud scream that could be heard from the classroom. She had to escape before someone saw her. She'd be exposed on the reports as the killer, but that was 6 hours away, so there was plenty of time to run away and plan her next move. "_Ugh, Manuel's bag's even heavier than mine_!" Fortunately, she had an innate capacity to give herself an adrenaline boost just when she needed it, so she was able to muster the strength to haul both bags over her shoulder as she lumbered off as fast as she could manage. "Never look back, never think twice. Can't lose - wanna live. Can't lose - wanna live. Can't lose! Wanna live." She repeated the words to herself over and over again. Elyse left behind the first casualty of the Program itself, Manuel's blood now covering the whole of the doorway in crimson red.

In the classroom, Elyse's scream was muffled, but still audible. Everyone knew instantly who it was, since it was female and definitely not Roz's voice. Stevenson whispered in the ear of a soldier, who ran out of the classroom. He returned quickly, said something to Stevenson, who then spoke to Morgan.

"I feel obligated to remind you at this point that the Program has already begun; the instant you leave this room, you are a part of it," he said with a sigh. Everyone else drew back with gasps of horror; several started to cry, if they weren't doing so already. That was Elyse screaming, but was she a victim or had she attacked somebody else? For it to be loud enough to be heard in here, it had to be serious, whatever it was. Morgan didn't look like he was about to say what happened. Instead, he pulled out the next name.

Newly designated female student number three Hannah Bishop gathered herself to her feet while staring with conflicted sullenness at Morgan. Elyse was her polar opposite, so she couldn't care less what happened to her; Hannah was anti-social and apathetic, in stark contrast to the bubbly and competitive Elyse. It was the prospect of her having attacked someone that bothered her. Manuel Noles left between the two, and he was one of Hannah's few friends. Thinking about it like that, she really hoped she was going to see Elyse writhing in pain as she left.

That was not the case, however. On seeing Manuel's mutilated body, his face ripped to shreds by…God only knew what…she surprised herself by shrieking loudly. It looked like someone had already slipped on his blood, actually. Elyse, presumably? Small wonder she screamed on seeing that. But was she the one to attack Manuel, or was it someone else? No time to think that over. Since she typically hadn't the first clue as to what she was going to do to survive, Hannah thought it best to start running for now, in case the attacker returned. _"Two down, 44 to go. I wonder who's next…"_

Morgan sighed deeply to himself as he drew the next name from the hat. "Male student number four - Adam Lewis." He'd desperately wanted him to leave after most of the class had gone, in case he decided to fire a parting shot. Adam was still mumbling incoherently to himself, his eyes locked on Morgan, as he slowly rose to his feet. As he did so, he seemed to whisper something into Kim Magdalene's ear.

"Look for me in the wide forest, hiding by a hollow tree." There seemed to be lament in his voice. Kim tried to ask what he meant but he ignored her, returning his gaze to Morgan. Morgan repeated.

"Male student number four - Adam. Lewis!"

He turned to face the class, scanning them as if looking for something. Support? He clearly had very little anymore. Moving towards Zoey's body, he looked broken and sad more than angry. He knelt down beside her, causing Charlie O'Keefe to jump up and push him away.

"Get away from her! She's dead because of you, haven't you done enough?" Guns aimed at Charlie, Morgan raised a hand and they lowered. It didn't look as though any argument was about to start. Adam closed her eyes, and spoke to her, appearing also to be replying to Charlie.

"She looks so peaceful lying there, in her field of paper flowers. All the cares of the world no longer matter to this one. She's the lucky one, you know; her pain has ended. Ours has just begun!"

"If you don't back off, I'll give you some pain," said Charlie angrily, putting himself between Adam and Zoey. He was unfazed.

"Don't worry, I'll be drowning in flame soon enough. For now, though, she is my sin - and that of all of us. You'd better sit down before you get in trouble." As Charlie sat down, not knowing what to think, saddened bewilderment crossed the faces of many of the other students. Adam had always been a bit…strange. But he seemed to have gone completely mad. Perhaps Zoey's death had hit him harder than he realised, though the possibility that he was faking this to make him seem less of a threat to people did exist. It was hard to put anything past anyone in this situation. Morgan had been patient a moment but that was fading fast.

"Adam, get a move on!"

Moving quickly towards the front of the class, the sadness in his eyes turned to anger.

"You'll live to regret this, Peter Morgan, you mark my words. The Legacy of the Anti-Clique will be sealed with the kiss of a blade! Remember those words, every single one of you! Time to face destiny - I'll see you on the other side!" With that, Stevenson hurled a bag at him, nearly flooring him. He smiled at the class sarcastically, saluted them and left.

Charging down the corridor, Adam leapt over Manuel's body, screaming "You fucking bastards!" at the top of his voice as he did so. Leaving before being shot by the understandably annoyed soldiers, he found himself alone outside. He was hoping that the cool air would have some sort of effect on him, but nothing happened. He put a hand to his temple.

"What's happening? What's happening to me? Oh, God." He was talking to himself, but didn't care. He seemed to recall what he'd said to Morgan, as if he wasn't even consciously aware in the classroom. "The Legacy of the Anti-Clique…that's what I gotta do, right? Seal it, for everyone." He shook his head. "No…Holly, Holly is the one, she is the way she is the light she is the cure." Several thoughts running around his mind, Adam ran off into the night as quickly as he could.

With Adam now gone, Morgan was relieved to see the next several students all leave without incident. Charlotte Turner just looked vacant, and George Ryan's poker face masked his insecurity while Laurinda Davies merely looked sullen as ever. Andrew Cruddas showed much more confidence, as opposed to the terrified Sadie Willis and Jake Wilson. Thus female students four to six, and male students five to seven, entered the Program.

It was in stark contrast to the pacifistic leanings of Sadie and Jake that the seventh female student instructed to enter the Program, Jenna Widdowson, smiled as she heard her name. She had never been a great fan of her classmates, the two sitting beside her being the only exceptions. Well, Adam and Mark Johnson could be tolerated on rare occasions, but that was it. And they, along with everyone else, were expendable. The only people who mattered anymore were herself, Jemi Britcher, and Rem Remnant. They knew to find her when their numbers were called, and as soon as they did, the Trio would win the Program. What would happen once everyone else was dead was unclear, but that was irrelevant for now.

Giving her friends one last hug goodbye, she donned a sadistic smile as she stood up and moved to the front of the class. It was almost as if she was in slow motion, the way she got a good look at everyone, making sure they knew what awaited them outside the classroom.

Outside, her spirits were in no way dampened when she saw what she'd been given - a katana. A noble weapon, and a potent one. Okay, so it wasn't a gun, which she presumed would be in a couple of the bags, but for a silent takedown, it was hard to do better than this. They would never see her coming. Clutching the blade close, Jenna skulked off into the night, awaiting her first victim.

Back in the classroom, Morgan found himself once again pensive as he revealed the next name. "Male student number eight - Scott Irving." Another of the Anti-Clique, and he actually beat Adam to the punch in criticising him. Scott remained still a moment, unsure of what to do.

"Scott, get a move on, please," said Morgan, calmly but firmly. Scott seemed more stable right now than Adam had, and that made him more threatening. He suddenly leapt to his feet and walked straight up to Morgan himself.

"As Adam said, 'sir,' the Legacy of the Anti-Clique will be sealed with the kiss of a blade. I hope you remember those words."

"Do you know what they even mean?" Normally, it was tantamount to suicide to take on the Anti-Clique like this. Today, though, Morgan had literal firepower on his side, and simply could not lose. Scott was unfazed, however.

"Is that really something you want to call us out on? This isn't you, you know. You're a better man than this-" Morgan cut him off.

"There's more to this than you know, Scott, and I'm not going to stand here and debate it with you. Goodbye," he said, throwing him his bag. Scott left without protesting further. Morgan was relieved he'd been as calm as he was, and knew that if he were looking for a way of releasing pent-up emotion, then it would be another student who would fall victim.

Sullenly leaving the class, Scott looked on in horror at the remains of Manuel and wasted no time in checking his bag outside. His frown became a begrudging smile, however, when he saw what looked like a small rocket launcher. Holding up one of the grenades that it fired, in case anyone in the area saw him an opportune target, he hurried off to look for Adam. Without any better ideas right now, discussing this "Legacy of the Anti-Clique" with his best friend seemed the right way to go. He didn't know what Adam meant by it, but he certainly wanted to find out.

As he moved, he was unaware that his defence shield had actually worked, as Jenna lurked in the bushes nearby. There was no way she was going to take on Scott right now, far too risky. Perhaps the next girl to leave would be a better target?

That next girl turned out to be none other than her best friend, Jemi. The new female student number eight regretted having to leave Rem behind, but at least she was right behind Jenna. People had looked on in fear as Jenna left, as she was the most intimidating of the Trio. That was not to suggest, however, that Jemi came across as cute and cuddly; nor did she want to, for that matter.

Jemi exuded an air of confident relish as she strolled towards the exit. Creating the right impression on everyone else was key; creating fear in others now would make things easier later on. The guy who appeared to be in charge of the soldiers looked pleased with her, as though he could already tell she was going to participate.

Seconds after stepping outside, she heard a voice call out her name. She knew instantly who it was. _'So she waited for me,'_ she thought to herself with a smile. Venturing closer to where she thought it came from, a shadowy figure suddenly leapt out at her, throwing her backwards.

"Ha ha ha, gave you a fright, did I?" Jenna looked extremely pleased with herself for that. "You know you shouldn't explore while unarmed, someone dangerous might find you."

"If you'd given me a chance to look in my bag, I might have done that by now!"

"Well, hurry up, then, we don't have all day!" Jenna said in a mockingly hurried voice. She was admiring her katana in front of an impressed Jemi, who was less pleased with her own weapon.

"A…long metal tube. Okay?"

"What's that button on there?" Pointing the open end away from her, Jemi pressed the button that Jenna had noticed and suddenly became a lot happier. A sharp spike had just emerged, clearly with power enough to cause a serious puncture wound in anyone getting in its way.

"I think I quite like this, Jenna!" There was something sadistic about Jemi's voice. "With my spike and your sword, we'll need to go for a stealth approach, but that shouldn't be a problem."

"Yeah, we'll definitely need to do that. Scott came out just before you, and he got a fucking rocket launcher in his pack!" Jemi's eyes grew wider, hoping this was some kind of joke. The look of envious regret on Jenna's face suggested otherwise.

"Christ. Well, we can't exactly be stealthy here. Let's see if Rem comes out next, otherwise we'll just have to find him later." Jemi didn't want to say that; she hated the idea of abandoning a friend. But they had to look after themselves first, as Jenna reluctantly agreed, careful to stay silent in the darkness.

As Jenna and Jemi were talking, male student number nine, Josue Flores, was being ordered to leave. He did so without incident, calmly making his way outside. In his bag was a Walther PPK pistol. He'd never used a gun before and didn't think he wanted to either, but he realised he might not have a choice. What a thought. Thinking he heard something, he raised the gun in front of him defensively. Apparently it was nothing though, so looking around warily, he crept off into the shadows.

Nearby, the two girls looked at each other with exasperation, their weapons seeming so much less practical than they had done just a couple of minutes earlier. Realising there was no value in staying, they too disappeared without trace.

Their absence left the area surrounding the school in peace once again, peace which was undisturbed by the next few students to leave. Female student numbers nine and ten, Valerie Wolfe and Sandra Jackson, were fairly meek and could only think of finding their friends as soon as they could. In contrast, male student numbers ten and eleven were thinking in terms they would consider much more pragmatic. Peter Lucianus and Darren Cooper both recognised the value of patience however, and were not for creating a scene in circumstances they could not control. With a similar attitude being held by the eleventh female student, Tash Checketts, the students' exit now seemed almost rhythmic.

"Next to leave is male student number twelve, Layne Diallo."

Layne was Richard's twin brother and the more serious-minded of the pair. Richard was carefree and a joker; Layne tended towards neuroticism. This was a potential problem in circumstances as intense as these, and he knew it. He needed to be in control of a situation to be comfortable in it, and Morgan and the soldiers had made abundantly clear who was in control. He edged cautiously towards the door, terrified of what lay beyond. The sight of Manuel made him feel sick, so he hurried past him.

Creeping away from the school, he wondered how far Richard had travelled in the past hour. Perhaps he was still fairly near, maybe waiting on him? That would be nice. He really wished he could see Richard right now.

Back in the classroom as the clock hit 1am, Morgan noted that half the students had now entered Battle Royale Caledonia. They covered a mixture of pacifists and sociopaths, those who might participate, and those who definitely would not. Indeed, it was clear that at least one had already started the killing. For those still waiting for their number to be called, the next few minutes stood to be very nerve-wracking indeed…


	6. Hour 2: Twin Veils Denial

**Hour 2: Twin Veils – Denial**

There were 46 students in the year, and 23 of them were outside, having entered the Program. A further one was dead in the classroom, in front of those remaining at the back of the class and a group of heavily armed men at the front, led by Head of Year, Mr. Morgan. Among those who had left were pacifists like female #6 Sadie Willis, political head-cases like male #8 Scott Irving, and bad tempered, potentially violent people like male #6 Andrew Cruddas and male # 10 Peter Lucianus. A mix of personalities, but with anything possible in this warped-beyond-belief situation it was hard to tell who, if anyone, you'd actually want to find when you left the class yourself.

These were exactly the thoughts running through the heads of many of those still left, most of whom were by now either trying to formulate plans for what to do to survive, or to forget they were there, or even that they existed at all. There were only two ways for people to feel comfortable right now, to the meagre extent to which that word meant anything anymore – being organised or surrendering completely to escapism.

Among those choosing the latter was Amber Canton, who was about to discover she was female student number twelve. As it happened, though, it wasn't even needed. As Morgan read out her name, he at last revealed what everyone who left before her was hoping he did – that it was all a big joke! Amber hadn't been ordered to kill her friends, she'd been invited to a party! There was even a present for her at the door…camping gear? Well, okay, that was a bit strange, but she could live with it.

Music. Music in her head. Sounded like…R.E.M.

_Shiny happy people holding hands_

_Shiny happy people laughing_

_Everyone around love them, love them_

_Put it in your hands…_

Amber crept slowly down the corridor, knowing her friends were all going to jump out at her and yell "Surprise!" or something and not wanting to alert them too much to her presence. A few steps down, though, she took the opposite approach and bounded forward, the music still playing around her.

It stopped with the sound of a loud masculine scream as she fell forward at the doorway, skidding slightly on the tarmac. She suddenly felt a rush of blood to the head as she was knocked back into reality, quickly turning around to see what had happened. The sight of the disfigured body of Manuel Noles, formerly known as male #2, caused her to fly backwards a bit, and more so when she noticed bits of his blood and flesh on her shoes and ankles.

Oh, God, what was this? No sounds escaped her lips, save empty pockets of air; Amber couldn't even scream or cry. This was no party…but that meant! The bag, what was really inside? A nail gun…used for DIY, or killing your friends. Her lungs filling with the cold night air, Amber choked, nearly vomiting at what was before her. Her dreams, her bubble of thoughts that protected her from the world. Shattered into a million pieces. Amber seemed to spend so little time outside her own fantasies that the real world seemed strange at times anyway, but with all this? With no choice remaining but to go forth, she held her weapon tightly as she moved who knew where, still expecting her friends to leap out and surprise her – but now for entirely different reasons…

In the classroom, Dave Clark wasn't smiling in the way that Amber had when she left, but he nonetheless felt confident about what was to come when he was announced as male student number thirteen. This was because he, unlike most of his peers, had no need to worry about who to trust. He could see it on their faces; their eyes darted back and forth, trying desperately to gauge reactions, seeing if people were looking at them with intent to kill or whatever.

Dave didn't have that worry. He knew exactly who to trust – his true love, Jade Brown. They'd been going out for five years now, though to look at them together, it might have been five weeks. He'd keep her safe, and she would do likewise for him. Zoey Volta? Random chance killed her, so nothing to worry about; nobody in the year would actually kill anyone! Or so he thought before he got to the end of the corridor.

That eye, for only one remained, seemed to be begging for help. Was Manuel trying to get back inside the school? It didn't matter now, anyway. Clearly someone was prepared to kill. But that didn't change the fact that Dave had someone who would always be with him. Manuel didn't, and that made him more vulnerable. That had to be it.

There was only one question: when would Jade be called to leave? For two hours in the classroom, his thoughts had only been on one thing, and that was being with his beloved. He couldn't think of anything else, and waited not far from the school for her to follow him out, even despite the risks.

Dave's eyes lit up when just a minute later, Jade proved the very next student to leave. He quickly beckoned her over, but she'd expected him to wait anyway. "Oh, I'm so glad it's you so soon!"

"Yeah, me too. We're both number thirteen, lucky for some, eh?" she replied, just as glad as he was that they'd left so close. Relief, though, soon turned to sadness and fear as Jade realised she couldn't put what she'd just seen behind her. "I'm sorry, it's just…back there…" She tightly gripped her boyfriend, who could still see the body just a few metres away. Dave pulled her in close.

"It's okay, it's okay, my love, I'm here now, whoever did this has already gone, it's just us." He wanted to mean what he said, desperately, but he didn't know that he did.

"Is it, though? Look me in the eye and say it." She didn't even want the truth from him. The reality was that it wasn't, how could it be alright? Two people were dead already. What she needed, though, was simply to know that Dave was going to be there for her no matter how bad things got. She pulled back and held his gaze, watching him remain silent a moment.

"Alright, I admit it. I don't know that nothing bad is going to happen to us. I don't have magic powers, I can't make the world a happy place like that," he said, clicking his fingers. "But I do know we've got each other. We're here, right now, with and for each other no matter what, and no one and nothing will ever get in the way of that." His eyes showing resolution and determination, he fumbled around behind him before adding, "And if anyone tries, this will convince them to think again!" With that Dave presented his weapon before Jade – a 12-bore shotgun.

"If you stick by me, I'll, I'll stick by you," she said, stuttering a little. Jade was scared, but Dave now looked defiant.

"I'm with you to and beyond the death, my love." As if to prove his point, Dave put the gun down and kissed her deeply, knowing he might not have many more chances to do that. He felt Jade relax a little in his arms, which made him happy. Everything was going to be okay, not even God could separate these two.

"Hey guys, you might wanna get a room! Would be a lot warmer than it is out here!"

Breaking the kiss, Dave and Jade were caught off-guard by the sudden shout from the next to leave the school, male student number fourteen Olly King. Fortunately, he wasn't a threat to anyone, he was the class joker and everyone in the year could at least put up with him. Revelling in the colourful blushes now adorning the lovebirds' faces, he was gone as quickly as he'd appeared. Dave and Jade just looked at each other, half embarrassed, half relieved it wasn't someone dangerous who caught them.

It was a cold realisation, in a way. What if it had been someone else, what might have happened? No more words were spoken as they left the zone and entered the unknown, arms wrapped tightly around each other as Dave held the shotgun in front of him.

Female student number fourteen, Thera May, and male student number fifteen, Stefano Valutti, stayed little longer than Olly had, both making swift exits. They were soon followed by Kim Magdalene, the fifteenth female student, who reluctantly released herself from the security of her best friend, Mark Johnson. If she couldn't stay with her remaining friends, then she had to find those who were out in the field. Sad as she felt about the deaths of Zoey and Manuel, her tears were for herself, and for Adam Lewis, her other best friend, who already seemed broken by what had happened. She desperately hoped he'd be okay.

While Kim had not time to think on those whom had already died, the sixteenth male student could not avoid doing so. Roy Smiths was among Manuel's best friends. They were outcasts among outcasts together, along with Alyssa Davids and his girlfriend, Emily Green. It was a strange sight for the notoriously morbid Roy. The blood was starting to clot now, making the floor around the body sticky. It was hard to believe that just an hour ago, this cold and lifeless empty shell used to be a human being, a close friend.

The thought that most impacted upon Roy was of what mindset could do such a thing as this; what would it take, could he do it himself? Perhaps, if the chance fell to him to avenge the poor guy. As quickly as the thought came into his head, however, he realised how disturbing it was. Looking around him with a sense of fear, and imagining a weapon in his own hands, he took off. He was conflicted between wanting to wait for his friends, so he could protect them, and needing to secure his own position against the likes of those who struck Manuel. "_God damn you, pragmatism!"_

The next three students all left in short order. Female number sixteen, Rahne Southers, was tearful as she said goodbye to her best friend, Holly Morgan, sooner than she would have liked. Male number seventeen, Charlie O'Keefe, also struggled for composure as he bade a fond farewell to Zoey, secretly swearing that she would be avenged somehow. Neither stayed long, both determined to find their friends as soon as possible. Female number seventeen, Leah Faith, simply ran out the door as quick as she could, nearly falling over Manuel as she did so. The sight of him made her feel sick, but there was no time to think about it.

It was with some relief that Morgan read out the next name, as he could see he was getting near the end of his list. "Could male student number eighteen, Ian Doherty, please step forward?" He did so with something of a sulk.

Anything but popular, Ian didn't rate his chances too highly. He figured a lot of people in the year would enjoy killing him; he was an obvious target. As if any further proof were needed that easy targets would die early, Manuel provided just that. As if he could even hurt a fly! Yet he'd been brutally murdered right at the door. Poor guy. It did, however, give Ian an idea.

He hurried outside to check his bag, and desperately hoped for something good. God owed him one by now, time to call in the favour, he decided. "_Hallelujah_," he thought. An Uzi 9mm submachine-gun. Of all the people who could have had a gun as good as that, he did. Quickly finding ammunition and loading it, he realised that while whoever had killed Manuel had done so from close range, he didn't need to risk that. No, he could stand from a distance! Aim and fire at the next person out - that was all he had to do and he had a free weapon and one less person to worry about killing him. He took his place.

Just metres away from the school, Ian looked on with delight as female student number eighteen turned out to be Silent Shimizu. She had really hurt his feelings early in the afternoon; some of the things she said were so hurtful! How was he "creepy," exactly? No matter. He just had to squeeze the trigger and she'd be gone. "_Just…squeeze it. Now. Right now. There."_

Nothing happened.

"What…why won't it…it should be!" Ian's hands were frozen on the gun. He tried, but couldn't move them. Was it just fear taking over, or was the gun broken in some way? As soon as Silent left, he could move again, suggesting the former. Exasperated, Ian sat there, sulking once again.

Keeping his hands moving, sliding them up and down the length of his gun to make sure he wouldn't freeze again, Ian saw male student number nineteen, Rem Remnant, scan the area. He was either looking for his friends or seeing if there was anyone dangerous in the area. Oh, how little he knew. Now!

From nowhere, Ian flew out of the bushes with a loud scream that knocked Rem off balance. He pulled the trigger on his Uzi as hard and fast as he could, just waiting to see his foe disappear from the mortal plane. Rem had seen the gun and knew what was about to happen to him. Again, though, nothing did. Ian was definitely not frozen this time, but for some reason the trigger wasn't working; it just kept clicking every time. Rem stood there, dumbfounded. Why wasn't he dead?

Ian was thinking exactly the same thing. Quickly he removed the magazine and put it in again. _Click, click, click_. Still that sound, that failing sound, what was going on here? Rem now realised something was wrong with the gun and wasn't about to stick around and wait for him to fix it. He didn't know what weapon he had, but checking would only waste time, especially if it turned out to be useless. So instead he used the bag itself as a makeshift club, swinging it at Ian's head as he desperately scanned the gun. The bag was big and bulky, but not heavy, so he couldn't actually hurt Ian with it, but he could certainly knock him off his feet. Now lying on the floor, the gun still clenched in his hands, Ian saw Rem's boot moving swiftly towards his skull. A flash of pain rocked his head, and another his torso, and again. And with that, Rem took off, flying away from the school as quickly as he could.

Slightly bloodied and certainly dazed, Ian could barely recognise the next student to leave the classroom, who would be female number nineteen. From what he could make it, she was a muscled black girl. Must have been Shanae Preston. The figure stood still a moment for some reason, and he tried firing again. Yet again, nothing was happening, and the figure stood where it was, disappearing mere moments after it appeared. Once again, Ian was left all alone outside.

Why had the gun failed again? One student escaped him because of fear, now two more because he'd been given a broken weapon. It was at that moment that Ian saw what had caused the problem. The switch marked "safety" on the left side of the gun's receiver was set to "on." He felt his heart sink. Was he that much of a failure that he couldn't even pull the trigger on a gun and kill a couple of unarmed girls? This sucked. Even though Ian now had the gun working, he needed time to compose himself, so he slunk off into the darkness with the same sulk he had when he left the classroom.

There was no sign of the struggle when male student number twenty, Kenji Kamin, left the school. He did so quickly, his mind wandering, followed swiftly by female number twenty, Anna Wilson. Morgan had sounded somewhat tired when announcing their names, the burden of forced stoicism perhaps affecting him more than he'd have liked.

That was one of the few problems not faced by the twenty-first male, Alexander Vasselin, who felt a bit overwhelmed by what was going on and hurried out of the classroom. As he did so, he little realised that one of his peers had left just minutes earlier thinking of him. Had he known this, the next phase of his life may have been considerably more comfortable. On the other hand, however, his position was not unique; knowledge, or lack thereof, was more dangerous than any weapon, as many of Alexander's peers were soon to discover…

As her name was announced a minute or so after Alexander, Emily Green, female student number twenty-one, had only one concern – finding Roy. He would protect her; he would keep her safe. She was almost trance-like as she left the classroom, hoping to see him right outside the door. What she found instead was beyond even thinking about.

The next few seconds seemed to last hours; it was as though time itself had stopped as Emily knelt down in front of a horrific sight now passed by so many times. There were even footprints in the blood. _Did people just walk right past him? How could they ignore this?_ She couldn't even cry. There was just…nothing. It shouldn't have been real, he should have been alive and on holiday with her. Instead, he was gone. Where once there existed hope, dreams, and humanity now was only an empty void. Ignoring the mess, Emily hugged her fallen friend tightly one last time, holding him in her arms.

"Emily? What are you still doing here? Th-the soldiers, they won't let you stay in the corridor!" Mark Johnson, twenty-second and final male student, cast a nervous glance up towards the two armed men standing just inside the doorway. They were deliberately looking anywhere except the floor, drawing Mark's attention to something spread out beneath Emily. She shot to her feet, startled.

Her lips moved, but she seemed unable to speak. Come to think of it, she could barely breathe. Taking a moment to regain her composure, she looked hesitantly at Mark, seeing only confusion in his eyes. Making sure not to fall over, she edged backwards, her mind going a mile a minute. _He won't hurt you he's Mark he's nice he couldn't have done this oh God don't look back whatever you do just run go now move oh God this is real!_

Seconds later, she was gone, making clear to Mark what she'd seen. A soldier looked at him, seeming slightly sympathetic. Without thinking, Mark blurted out, "Is this what our Legacy's all about, then? Stopping this? Causing this? You gotta be okay, buddy, this can't be the end, we're STRONGER THAN THIS!" Shouting at the guy with the big gun wasn't the best of ideas, but he didn't seem to care. Dejected, the last of the Anti-Clique passed into the Program, into an unknown future.

* * *

As taken from _A Legacy Imploded_ by Harrison Graham, Chapter 6 – _Destiny Unleashed_, pp.36-37

All tales must have a beginning, and it is with fourteen simple words that the destiny of many was altered forever. … Many questions have been raised about the Legacy of the Anti-Clique, by far the most common being precisely what Adam Lewis was thinking at the moment he made the declaration and to what extent the others knew of his plans, either in advance or by intuition. … Beyond these matters, there is the ultimate unanswerable – precisely how many deaths may and should be directly attributed to the sealing of the Legacy and those acting to do so. … To what extent should deaths resulting from tangential causes to those pursued by the Anti-Clique, considered by the current author to include … be considered a part of the Legacy? That question may never be answered, though interesting insight has been offered by …

* * *

"Only two of you left, we're almost there. Female student number twenty-two…Holly Morgan." There was a very different atmosphere in the room now, compared to a couple of hours prior. No longer was there a throng of students threatening to overwhelm a small force of soldiers. Just two harmless, unfailingly nice young women and their teacher. For Holly, however, there wasn't even that – it was just her, and the dad who had just told her to go out to almost certain death.

"Guess you can't avoid me now. I'm sorry if that's hard for you." Holly could see the unease in her father's eyes, and was torn between upset and disgust. His response surprised her, though.

"It doesn't matter how it is for me. It's hard for you, and that's my concern."

"Your concern?" She was flabbergasted, but Morgan raised a hand to stop her continuing.

"Please listen, Holly,"

"But I –"

"Just listen. For a moment. I can tell you I'm not the one responsible for this, which I'm not, but I know that's irrelevant. I've failed you as a father and as a teacher, just as I've failed you, Aly, and everyone else. And ultimately I'm standing here telling you to go out and either kill, die, or both." He looked down with sad eyes. Behind him, Stevenson wasn't entirely happy at the delay, but wasn't prepared to intervene. "Look, there's more to this than you realise, more than I can say right now without getting my own neck blown up."

"You can't martyr yourself after what you've done, what you're doing, so don't even try. Just embarrassing." Holly spoke the words disdainfully, but despite the duplicity, and the realisation that this explained what had been going on for months, she couldn't bring herself to hate her father any more than she could hate her friends, even though they were apparently about to try and kill her. None of it made sense.

"Can't you tell me anything? We're alone, Aly can keep a secret, what's been going on, why is this not what it looks like?" She hadn't expected an answer to the question. Least of all the one she received. Morgan abruptly stiffened and looked her dead in the eyes. Beside Holly, Aly looked almost as nervous as she did, while Stevenson simply sighed and turned away.

"Holly, Jamie's dead. I told your mother about your selection from the Program a week ago, turned out your brother had come around for a surprise visit. He went to the Council to object….I don't know exactly what happened, but they killed him…said if I said or did anything to interfere with you being in all this, then they'd start killing the rest of the family, then me."

Forcing himself to remain fixed on Holly's gaze, he could do little more than mouth the words, "I'm so sorry, I'm so, so sorry. Please forgive me for…it's not my fault. Not my fault, not my..." He cut himself off, unable to continue. He'd turned around and was looking now at Stevenson, whose piercing stare cut through him like a laser. Beyond that, he didn't move.

On the floor a few feet away, Holly had nearly fainted, and was now being held by Aly. Confusion swept through her spinning head, she couldn't even begin to understand any of it. Unable to cope any longer with being in this room, Holly picked herself up, thanked Aly, and fled as fast as she could from the classroom, her eyes not fixated on her father until the classroom door closed behind her.

With Morgan left now to reflect on whether he would ever see his daughter alive again, Stevenson coughed loudly as though to remind him that his work was not yet done. Gathering himself together as fast as he could, he noted that pulling the final name from the hat felt satisfying, relieving, yet also empty. This was the last of his students, most or all of whom were going to die in the next three days. At least he might get some time alone after this, though that was scant comfort after what had happened in the last few hours.

"Last, but by no means least, female student number 23, Alyssa Davids. Your turn at last, Aly."

It felt strange to her, being the last student left in the room. There were so many guns, and all of them were pointed at her and her alone. In front of them, her teacher, nice and kind all these years, but now a murderer. It didn't seem like it was all his own doing, though. It was all so complicated; losing your son when he tried to protect your daughter must have been horrible for him.

Aly had her own concerns, though. Like wondering where her friends were, if they were even okay. Some of them had been outside two hours now. Hopefully they weren't too far away. After saying goodbye to her teacher, hopefully not for the last time, she found the first of her friends and immediately felt like fainting, just as Holly nearly did. _No…no, no, not Manuel, anyone but him!_ With the soldiers moving to close the door in front of him, she was denied the chance to stay long in the corridor. All she could do was close his eyes in respect, say farewell and leave. Where Emily and Roy were by now she couldn't say, but with few other options, she had to try and find them. Hopefully she would before whoever killed Manuel did. They deserved better than that, after all.

As the door shut behind Aly, Stevenson hurried his soldiers away. He said something to Morgan, but Morgan wasn't paying attention, so he didn't catch it. With Stevenson gone from the room as well, he was all alone. Collapsing against the wall, he saw the now cold and empty eyes of Zoey Volta stare up towards the ceiling. He also knew that Manuel Noles had died before he'd left the school. Two down, 44 to go. He thought of his former students across the island, and what they might be thinking right now. Whatever it was, one thing was clear - the twin veils of ignorance and denial had fallen. Battle Royale Caledonia had truly begun.


	7. Hour 3: The Best Laid Schemes?

**Hour 3: The Best Laid Schemes?**

The island of Caphraig was a small community outpost in the Western Isles of Scotland. A little under ten square miles, its small collection of fishermen in the south and crofters in the north were largely self-sufficient. A few visitors came by every now and again, and could be sold local goods, but these were mainly from other local islands. Over the years, a fort had been built on the north side of the island and a lighthouse on the south, but aside from a ruined monastery towards the centre-west and a seafood restaurant for the tourists in the south-east, all that existed on the rock was the usual island trappings.

Its remoteness made it an apparently strange choice of location for such a big event as the end of high school trip, yet this was the appeal and how it was sold to the St. Barnabus 6th Years ahead of more glamorous alternatives. For with few residents, and even fewer whose opinions actually mattered to anyone besides themselves, the students would essentially have free reign on the island to do whatever they wanted. Of course, since only a single student was intended to survive the trip, the authorities could freely give whatever incentives they liked to guarantee their preferred location.

The illusion of freedom on a level seldom experienced in the students' lives thus far was also how the entire class was persuaded to turn up. For most, the appeal of the trip itself sufficed; for others such as Silent Shimizu the natural peace and tranquillity of the island made it worthwhile. Freedom alone however explained the appearance of the Trio of Jenna Widdowson, Jemi Britcher and Rem Remnant. Mr. Morgan had made a good point as the students left the class – legally they had more freedom than humans had ever had since laws had ever been created – and it would be a shame not to take advantage of that.

For now though the Trio were divided, with Jenna and Jemi being forced to abandon their plan to wait for Rem outside the school due to the risk of being discovered by others. Since they had few friends beyond each other and inferior weapons, their chances of surviving an early encounter with gun-toting classmates were slim. Reluctantly therefore, they had to hope Rem was better armed and able to find them quickly.

Jenna however did not consider her weapon allocation to be a big problem, gleefully slicing the air with her katana while taking advantage of starlight being the only illumination on the ground. She took the lead as always, with Jemi walking beside and slightly behind her. They gave a slightly odd appearance, with the larger weapon being in the hands of the shorter girl; at around 5'10'' Jemi was four inches taller than her oldest friend. And the more she thought about it, the more she disliked the pneumatic spike-in-a-tube that had been in her backpack.

"Jenna, we need a plan". There was a note of frustration in her voice, but it was ignored.

"We have a plan. We find Rem, we kill everyone else, then…well I don't know what then but it's a bit early to think about that, no?" She seemed determined yet distracted, as though aware but unwilling to admit that that really wasn't what Jemi meant with her last statement.

"You're right, it is too early because if everyone else has guns and rockets then we're fucked. I mean look at us!" Jenna stopped in her tracks, almost causing Jemi to walk straight into her.

"You trying to say we're helpless here. Cos that's not how I see it." Turning around and laughing, Jenna swung her sword in front of Jemi, coming dangerously close to slashing her with it. Jenna locked onto her eyes with the same mischievous look she'd given Jemi on the bus. She found it oddly reassuring, and knew that Jenna had a point; they were just as capable as anyone else in a fight. More than most probably. Even so…

"Look you need to not over rely on that thing. I know katana are cool and that, but really, it's not a well made sword. The Japanese had shit iron and I don't think the British have anything better. It's only sharp on one side as well, and awkward to wield. No matter how awesome you look doing it."

"Ugh, are you lecturing me? Lighten up, I know it's crap but it's the best we have." The electric blue streaks in her long dark hair shone in the starlight. As ever she was in a corset, but had forsaken her usual long skirt for more practical dark jeans. Goth stereotypes aside, she had an intimidating appearance. It was wholly intentional of course, though Jemi still questioned whether or not that was advantageous here.

"Hence my question. What are we gonna do? How do you even start a killing spree anyway?" Jemi wasn't the most approachable of people herself, despite her typical neon pink/black colour combination giving her a deceptive air of vibrancy. Although Jenna was a few inches shorter than Jemi, she was easily the more imposing of the two. It was why Jenna was always perceived as the Trio's "leader", and the one to whom the others were more likely to turn than the other way around in crisis situations.

"It's not like you to be so uptight, not around me anyway -"

"Ask me if I'm okay and I'm gonna fucking deck you, not joking!" Jemi interrupted, taking a step back. Instinctively she raised the spike in front of her. Jenna looked concerned, but not because she saw herself in danger. Her friend was pale, and her demonic sense of humour missing from her voice. She knew what it was, admittedly; Jemi couldn't keep secrets from her, not that she ever would anyway. Basic psychology told her what to do though.

"Like I'd need to fucking _ask_," she replied with mock derision. "Who are you talking to?"

"The whore I'm gonna be killing in two days time. Unless you have any better ideas that is, and before you say you killing me remember I'll be making sure I've got the better weapon when we get to that point. You've got no chance." The confidence had returned to her voice but Jemi now faced away, her copper hair waving softly in the breeze.

"If you're that much of a threat to me maybe I should just kill you first then, and save time?" The reply was nonchalant, but sisterly affection adorned Jenna's face. She sheathed the katana. This was the real question Jemi wanted to ask.

"Could you?"

"It's what we've been ordered to do, we'll die ourselves if we don't. Hunter or hunted, remember?"

"Yeah, I remember, but it's not what I asked you, is it? Give me a straight answer or don't fucking bother." Jemi was physically closing in on herself, and Jenna leapt upon her back, locking her arms and legs in place so she couldn't escape. Her skin felt soft; if the endless rumours about the pair and lesbianism had been true, Jemi would have been at Jenna's mercy.

"I honestly don't know if I could do you or Rem. But you're the only ones I'd stop to think about. Good enough for you?"

"Not really, since I can't move." Jemi struggled a bit, though knew she wasn't getting away.

"I know, and I don't want you to. We need to think about things here. Okay so we might have to fight each other, but that could be ages away. Our only weapons are a crappy sword and a spike, and fuck knows where Rem's gone. You asked me how to start a killing spree a minute ago?" Jenna was enjoying the moment. A natural dom, having anyone under her control, even her best friend, was a good feeling. Jemi just nodded in answer to the question

"Simple, we sneak up behind someone and get them like this. Stop them from escaping, relieve them of their weapon, and murder them. All it takes is one target between the two of us and the rest become much easier. Even if they have a gun, if they're on their own and don't see us coming then they're screwed."

Jemi had to admit; it made sense. So what if it wasn't going to be a complete pushover? "If we could do that, we could cause a nice bit of pain as well with these things."

"Of course! We can make them beg for mercy they won't get. We deserve to survive, they don't. Most of the others are probably too shit scared to kill anyone anyway. That's why we'll win. God if you were anyone else, I'd be snapping your neck like a twig right now." Jenna released Jemi as she said the words.

"Alright then, nothing better to do the now anyway," she replied, sighing. As if there had been any doubt of how it would end…

"Shall we go hunting then?" Jenna asked, her nightmare-inducing smile adorning her face.

"No," replied Jemi, provoking a momentary look of confusion. "Hunting implies the possibility of failure. Let's go killing. Hang on, let me see that katana a moment?" Jenna cautiously passed it to her. "Oh dear. There's no blood on this yet. About time we changed that?" She handed it back to Jenna, who had already taken off.

"Now that's the Jemi I know and love talking. Keep it up and I won't have the heart to kill you!"

"Wasn't aware you had a heart in the first place Jenna."

"Fuck up!" Jenna laughed, hitting Jemi on the arm. Today was going to be a good day. The only certainty was that there would be blood, but that was as much as the two Goths needed to know as they sought out their first victim.

* * *

It was with a long reluctant sigh that Andrew Cruddas, one of the class's more muscular bodies, had made taken his first steps in the Program. As one of the first students to leave the classroom, he'd had time to consider his surroundings without the terror of being immediately cut down that those leaving last might be faced with. He'd seen the body. He knew that people were playing for real, which given what he knew about his peers was hardly surprising.

After all, what it came down to in the end was a simple balance of options. You could kill. You could get killed. Or you could do both by committing suicide. That really didn't make for much of a choice.

Pragmatism: the only worthwhile consideration at a time like this. One had to be willing to do what was necessary, since those who weren't would inevitably be destroyed by those who were. Someone had already proved they were, and based on the timings it was as likely as not Elyse Backman, Andrew's old friend and rival in the drama club.

It made sense for it to be her; given how competitive she was. She wasn't one to put friendship ahead of winning, and Andrew had realised very soon after leaving the classroom that he had to force himself to do likewise. It was how life worked after all, wasn't it? Survival of the fittest, all that kind of Darwinist stuff. It was all that mattered in the world now.

Of course there were practical considerations, such as the allocated weapon. That was what really disappointed Andrew. He held it in his hand all the same, but he struggled to see much benefit in a length of cheese wire. Whatever did in Manuel was certainly more impressive, and that person now had two weapons. Oh well, no point moping about it. If survival was to be on the cards then he'd have to scale up. Perhaps more to the point he'd have to prove himself capable of making it on the island.

Time passed as Andrew considered this. He found himself in a residential area of the island, though the term seemed relatively meaningless in so sparsely populated a place. Still, these were actual small houses, unlike the crofts scattered about the rest of Caphraig. They would make decent cover for anyone looking to use them as such, though Andrew himself was proof it could be considered too obvious a hiding place.

He clung tightly to the walls as he explored the area, careful to avoid being discovered. It didn't take long for his caution to pay off, as he sighted his first target. Richard Diallo apparently had a similar plan and was also creeping about the buildings. He wasn't taking so much care not to be seen though, which didn't surprise Andrew. Richard was a carefree kind of a guy. Easy-going and harmless. Apparently unarmed. And not long for this world.

Andrew was in front of Richard, each crawling along the side wall of two houses facing each other. Unseen, Andrew ducked quickly back around the corner, preferring to avoid a straight fight early on. Richard was hardly the pinnacle of strength, but Andrew would need to conserve his for later on, and hardier foes.

Richard turning right to go along the front wall, Andrew doubled back again to the wall he'd seen Richard on. Despite Andrew's bulk, he could be deceptively nimble when he wanted to, a trait which had served him well in high school. Aided by the darkness, he was soon just a few feet away and remained undiscovered.

Feeling the weight of his weapon in his hand, Andrew considered using it as a garrotte, but decided he couldn't get close enough to be undetected. It would have to serve as a whip instead. Not wanting to waste time and risk losing his quarry, he immediately lashed out at Richard, who was now walking along the opposite side wall of the building. The wire was met with a metal object that he swore Richard didn't have in his hand a second ago. As Richard spun around, Andrew found himself taken aback, the wire caught in the metal. Whatever it was, it was serrated and looked sharp.

Pulling the wire free, Andrew found himself face to face with his foe. In the scant light it was hard to see much of anything, but the lightweight Somalian had a distinctive physique. Andrew was clearly the stronger of the two; Richard's smaller frame belied his body's tonicity.

"I don't want ta fight you man, back away now and nobody gets hurt." The moonlight flashed slightly off the metal in the boy's hand, meaning Andrew could see it was a boomerang of some kind.

Andrew ignored the warning and struck out again, but could get no power in the blow because of the risk of self-injury. Again and again he snapped the whip forward, ignoring further requests to give up. Richard apparently meant what he said about not fighting, and was doing nothing to take the initiative. Occasional jabs of the boomerang were futile, as every crack of the whip increased Andrew's understanding and control of it, enabling him to strike with increased power.

With no serious resistance, Andrew had seen his chance and was taking it, circling around Richard to keep him pressed against the house's wall. Positioning himself side-on to minimise the risk of lacerating himself, his whip created an impassable barrier as he advanced on Richard, who was soon on the floor.

The length of the wire was limited, however, and this gave Richard room to manoeuvre. Only on two sides was he completely cut off, so with nothing to lose he stuck the boomerang out to catch the wire, and with the deft movement learned from years of Judo, swept Andrew's legs out from under him. With two quick twists of his wrist, the wire was soon trapped around the boomerang's serrations and Richard was atop Andrew.

"I told ya not a fight me boy, the fuck you doing? You think I thought I was alone out here?" Despite his words, and the fact that he was towering over Andrew, Richard still seemed as nonchalant as ever, appearing to take some amusement in what was happening. A curious smile adorning his face, he tugged on the wire with the boomerang to see if Andrew would release it, but his grip held firm.

"You, what, thought you'd kill me with this? Cos I like a joke and a smile I'ma soft touch aye? Listen close eh, I'll gut you like a fuckin' fish." Andrew had to breathe in sharply to avoid the wire as Richard jabbed with the boomerang, slacking the wire and sending it dangerously close to Andrew's chest.

"Since when were you a murderer, didn't you always say martial arts were for defence? That's why you do judo, isn't it?"

Richard laughed. "Christ man you're pathetic. Like you're one ta talk about killing! Thought you were the sensible type…"

"Sensible means different things at different times I guess. So what, you're gonna kill me now then?"

"That depends…you still want ta dance?" With that Richard, who seemed slightly annoyed at that last remark, hefted Andrew to his feet, spun himself around twice to release the wire and flicked his wrist up, sending it flying towards Andrew's face before positioning himself ready for a counter.

Andrew ducked to avoid his own weapon but soon found himself floored again, dodging a slash from the boomerang as Richard finally went on the offensive. It was a strange weapon, but it made a convenient ersatz cutlass and Andrew could tell he was outmatched.

Kicking out at Richard's left leg to unbalance him slightly, Andrew threw himself inelegantly to the side to avoid the next blow. Pulling himself up as quickly as he could, he fled the scene, though Richard did not seem to pursue. Andrew thought he could hear the sound of Richard still chuckling behind him, but paid it no mind.

Once he was clear, Andrew looked himself over to make sure he hadn't taken any injuries. No, somehow he'd come away unscathed, and he did still have his wire. His pride however was shattered, and he had little more idea than before as to how he was going to improve his chances in the Program. Maybe stealth was the answer – perhaps getting up close and garrotting his next foe was the better option. Richard did have better reflexes than Andrew had assumed, which was an almost fatal mistake on his part. Next time there could be none of that. Next time would be the real thing. It was early days yet, so no need to worry. Composing himself, Andrew headed off in search of his next target.

* * *

Whether darkness favoured those who would attack or those trying to hide was debateable; it was hard to find potential targets, but easy to avoid being seen once one had been sighted. But it was reflexes, one's allocated weapon, and good old fashioned luck that really decided encounters.

Such was the observation of one who had seen the predatory movements of Andrew Cruddas and feared he would be the one detected and targeted. But today, fortune had favoured Jake Wilson, and with Richard Diallo sending Andrew on the run, Jake could escape. He did not forsake the opportunity.

Admittedly, Jake did possess the capacity to defend himself, an aluminium baseball bat being in his bag, but right now the glimmering metal made it more a beacon for aggressors than a survival tool. Not that he could stand the thought of using it anyway except for actual baseball, which he didn't know anything about. For now, he simply ran through the bushes, hoping he wasn't making enough noise to be detected. Nobody shouted after him at least.

Catching his breath in a clearing, he tried to slow the thoughts racing through his mind. What had he just borne witness to? How had it happened and why? Neither Andrew nor Richard was dead, but that seemed more luck than anything else. He didn't want to dwell too much on the specifics, knowing it wouldn't do much good, though as an analytical person it was something he did automatically. Doing so also delayed admitting the reality of the situation, which was that Jake was alone and he was scared.

He was known for being eager to please people, and was well-liked because of it, but he'd always been a little sensitive and fearing of being targeted. That was because he'd admitted his homosexuality a couple of years previously, and while to say he was flamboyant was a bit of a stretch, it wasn't wholly inaccurate. Society's almost violent movement against intolerance had benefited people like him enormously, a little residual fear notwithsranding. Support from his cousin Anna and all of her friends, who were among the most popular girls in school had helped ease that though.

He was grateful for their support in all aspects of his life, and wanted nothing more than to be with them now. Anna could be quite headstrong, but given that Jake wasn't it was what he needed at the moment. If he could find her then she'd protect him. He had plenty of other friends in the class, but wasn't sure how many of them he could rely on.

Even Layne Diallo, his best friend after his cousin and Alexander Vasselin. Normally even now Jake would be thinking Layne would be trustworthy, but having just seen his twin brother try to kill someone, he wasn't so sure. Granted, Layne was almost the polar opposite of Richard, but that was, if anything, the point. Richard was the calm and carefree brother, Layne the highly strung one. Yet as soon as he got the chance, the knives were quite literally out. What would Layne be doing right now?

_Cowardice is nothing to be ashamed of. You attack from afar, unseen and in unexpected ways, that's how you win your battles. It's who you are_. The words of Anna's close friend and one of Jake's strongest allies through the years, Sadie Willis, came to him again. She was talking about chess, in which he was a hypermodern player who avoided direct confrontations, and life itself. He'd always believed her, and gone through life happy and content because of it, but now he knew doubt.

Now he felt pain in his heart. At that moment it struck him. His thoughts since his escape from the battle all made sense now – his loneliness, his fear, his desire to exchange whatever help he could offer for his own protection; he knew what he had to do. He knew who he was looking for.

For all his close friendships, male and female, Jake had never had a serious boyfriend. So before he died, he was going to have one, even if it couldn't be for long. What's more, he knew exactly who he wanted. Feeling now ever so slightly reinvigorated, he determined he would hold onto that for as long as it took to find the object of his affection. Sadie was right; he won his battles in unexpected ways. This one being more difficult than most didn't mean he couldn't or wouldn't do so again. _Perhaps I'll get to thank you for telling me that_, he thought as he crept away.

* * *

When the time came to discuss an end of year trip, the idea of somewhere remote had seemed appealing to Alexander Vasselin. It would make a nice change from the usual city highlights. Now however he found himself missing certain modern conveniences that one generally took for granted, like adequate street lighting. Stumbling around in the darkness, he could see the dazzling floodlights outside the school behind him but very little in front. He couldn't even see the map he'd been given to work out where he was going. Nor could he see the equally confused petite girl just a few feet ahead.

Screaming, Emily Green realised a second later how foolish that was and turned around, backing away as she tried to see who or what it was. It didn't _look _too dangerous, but then Manuel might have thought the same thing not much earlier.

"Who's there, who-who is it?" The mysterious figure sounded strangely as scared as she did.

"Please don't hurt me!"

"Hurt you? Em-Emily? Is that you? It's me, Alex!" Normally his soft voice would have been some comfort to her, but not here. He raised his hands as he edged towards her, but she continued to resemble a deer caught in headlights. At least he didn't look armed.

"How do I know you're not going to do to me what someone did to Manuel? Come on, you saw it!"

Alexander was slightly bemused; anxious as Emily often was, this was terror like he'd never seen in her. She did have a point though. He shook himself out of it before he could dwell on it. At any other time he'd be sitting her down and talking things through. Not now though. He didn't have time. He was looking for someone and in this light it was hard enough to find anyone anyway, let alone if he wasted time like this.

It tugged at his heart to even say it – there was being pragmatic and then there was abandoning someone who needed his help. Just this once though, he had to put his own needs first, before it was too late.

"Emily you're just going to have to trust me on this – I'm not your enemy and I'm going away now anyway. I just need to ask you something, okay? Just calm down, I'll stay back here if it makes it easier for you."

"Fine. Alright. Just don't come any closer, what is it?" Reluctantly standing her ground, Emily realised that even like this it was impossible to be scared of wee gay Alex. You could have a pillow fight with someone and they'd hit harder than Alex with a rock.

"Kenji left the classroom right before you, so since I was after you he can't be far away. You seen him about anywhere?"

"Er, uhm, no sorry I haven't I'm afraid! Why do you want to find him if you don't mind my asking?"

His heart sank. "Oh it's…nothing, just got a few things I need to check with him is all. Long story that I don't really have time to tell just now…um try to take it easy if you can yeah? Good luck out there, I think we're all going to need it!" He laughed weakly, but knowing he'd probably never see her again made it hard.

"Thanks, you too-" She tried to reply. But Alex was already gone, so she just stood there, slightly bewildered but too aware of the precariousness of her own situation to worry about his.

As Alexander ran, he desperately hoped he wasn't too far behind his target - unaware that Kenji was facing the other direction when he moved on from the school. Still, time remained for them to meet as long as each still drew breath. For how long that would remain the case however neither yet knew, and was Alexander's fear.


	8. Hour 4: Technically Pacifist

**Hour 4: Technically Pacifist**

Uncertainty. It made a cool night colder, an island a short distance from the mainland a million miles away, it made rough sleepers insomniacs. It seemed to be carried in the wind for miles around; the soft howls of the sea breeze served as a constant reminder of the unknown fate awaiting all on Caphraig.

All. Why did that phrasing suddenly come to the mind of the slender yet curvaceous girl currently wandering towards the island's south coast, facing the mainland? As she traipsed along a grassy trail she couldn't see the jagged rocks that marked the island's edge, but already audible were the harsh sounds of the waves crashing against them. The sound would do nothing to help her unwind, but for Rahne Southers relaxation was quite out of the question anyway.

Unable to shake it, she asked herself again why she had in that moment considered _everybody's _life at risk on the island. She and her kin? Obviously, apparently they were all marked for death. But the ones behind all this were quite safe weren't they? She struggled to imagine something happening to them any time soon. If only everything was sitting in her head as it should have been.

Now there was an amusing thought. Putting a hand to her temple, just below her distinctive spiky red hair, Rahne forced a weak laugh from herself at the idea of this time and place of all being one to find inner serenity. That was insignificant right now though. The real issue was what had happened in the classroom. The murder wasn't something she was prepared to think about right now; what had hit her was the way the Anti-Clique had acted.

That made little sense; the group argued and disagreed all the time, but when it came to the important stuff they stood together, or at least pretended to. What she saw though a couple of hours ago was the kind of disunity that unless you knew them as well as they knew each other you'd swear could never exist. Could never have existed after they first started calling themselves by that accursed name anyway.

As Rahne drew nearer the cliffs, she found herself thinking back to how she herself coined the term "Anti-Clique" way back in S3. '_Ugh, if only I knew what I was unleashing upon the world at the time!'_

_

* * *

_

It was a lunchtime in January 2016 and Rahne, Holly Morgan, Anna Wilson, Sandra Jackson, Sadie Willis and Carol Veers, the latter of whom had left school after fifth year, were sitting in front of the large statue in a large circular area 50 feet or so in front of the main school building. It was fun to just sit there, chatting away while watching the other students go about their business. The building was a large cuboid on a larger rectangular plain, made a densely populated plaza by the assembly hall extension that gave the school its distinctive L-shape.

Adam Lewis, Scott Irving, Mark Johnson, Kim Magdalene and Kenji Kamin were usually to be found in a secluded circular area nearby. It was at the top of a very slight tarmacked hill that rose from the main plaza and was about 20 feet to the left of the statue if one faced the school. After getting lunch they'd typically wander round there, often discussing politics or some such. For some reason though, things were unusually heated that day and they hadn't made it past the plaza. Rahne was always at the statue long before they passed it, and if, as often, there was an argument to be had, it was generally in full swing by the time they reached her. Normally they were ignorable, but that day had been different.

Exactly what happened was unclear, but the argument attracted a crowd. It seemed that Adam and Kim were at each other's throats; she wanted more religious teaching in schools and Adam did not, from what Rahne could see of it, and things had somehow exploded. As was often the case, Scott sided with Adam, Mark with Kim, and Kenji remained neutral. All three, however, soon found themselves merely trying to keep the peace, as things became more personal between Adam and Kim.

They were shouting at each other, and quite clearly something had to give. By the time it did, Rahne's group, though keeping away from the masses, were themselves watching (if only because this was quite clearly not normal). She believed Adam's exact words were "Kim, just shut the fuck up, you goddamn junkie whore!"

_That_ was unexpected. Everybody immediately went silent, as Kim started to spin. She was struggling to stand, stunned by what had just been said, while the others were looking at each other, trying to think of what to do next. Adam, meanwhile, just stood there, trying to stare Kim down. Suddenly she swung for him, punching him so hard in the head he must have fallen back the better part of twenty feet before hitting the floor and sliding to a halt. Kenji, Mark, and Scott immediately moved to disperse the crowd, clearing. Kim was in a state, unsure whether to help Adam or run off screaming.

Rahne and her friends quickly decided to go to Kim's aid, skipping past the crowd by running over the grass, something the teachers were curiously ruthless about punishing normally. Kim hung out with the Anti-Clique most of the time these days, but she was also very close to their group. Well, she got on well with almost everyone, but Rahne had been friends with her since Primary School. By the time they got there, however, she had already hurtled off down away from the assembly hall doors, around the back of the extension. A number of people started chasing after her, but Sadie was quick to point out a bigger concern – Adam lying almost unconscious nearby. She, Sandra, Carol and Anna headed off people going after Kim, directing them towards Adam instead. Rahne and Holly did likewise, but also moved to cut everyone else off from him and Mark, Kenji and Scott, who were in utter shock at what had just happened. Fortunately, Adam wasn't unconscious, although he was clearly dazed.

"Are you alright?"

"What do you think, Mark?" Rahne snapped sarcastically.

Suddenly Scott took control. "Mark, go after Kim, will you?" His voice then lowered to a whisper, "But don't make it look as if that's what you're doing. Cut through the foyer, try and head her off before she gets to the gates, or worse, R.E."

He looked justifiably concerned. Following on the path on the other side of the foyer led to the gate, where Jenna's group could generally be found smoking. It wouldn't end well for Kim if she ran into her. Turning left instead led to the other side of the extension to the school, so Mark would be able to find Kim that way. The path northeast, meanwhile, ended at the Religious Education buildings. Kim naturally went there for guidance a lot of the time, but if she went there now, she was going to get excluded; much as she was liked among the staff, you just couldn't ignore something like this. Of course, she was likely to be excluded either way. This was bad.

"Could you guys help me get Adam inside, please? And let's try and be at least vaguely subtle about this!" Scott said vainly. Given how many people where there, subtlety wasn't a realistic option. Holly and Rahne herself were helping him to his feet; Kenji helped Carol, Sadie, Sandra and Anna in their failing attempts to keep the burgeoning crowd off. They headed for the foyer, but Scott quickly directed them to the Assembly Hall doors instead.

"The lighting box. It's our best shot. Holly, go up and find out if anyone's in there?"

"On my way," she hastily replied.

The double doors they were approaching led into a foyer. On the other side, a staircase led to the balcony over the Assembly Hall. There was no common room for the Seniors in this school, so that balcony was all they had. The seating was directly above them, facing towards the stage at the back, the 5th Years using the block of seats on the far side from the entrance and the 6th years the near. The lighting box was in the corner just behind the 6th year seating. It was small, containing as it did little more than lighting and sound equipment. Assuming the box was unlocked right now, it would be easy to sort things out, assuming Adam didn't need medical attention. Better still, it would be easy to keep the crowd at bay.

Fortunately, it was both unlocked and empty. Some of the Seniors were perplexed as to what these S3's were doing, but none of them actually cared enough to investigate. Adam was hurried into the box and laid down on the uncomfortable industrial carpet floor. Unfortunately, Scott was called by the group downstairs for crowd control purposes, but Rahne and Holly stayed with him. Unsurprisingly, he was still confused. The fact that he was still conscious, however, did seem surprising.

"Don't…don't let Kim get excluded for this. Please. Rahne. Holly."  
"What? Adam, much as I like Kim, she hit you pretty damn hard, and that really wasn't called for! I don't think there's a lot we can do about this, even if we wanted to!"

"Yes, Holly, there is. You guys are the main witnesses, right? I mean, you were the only ones who saw _exactly_ what happened – everyone else just saw a whole load of commotion and me looking dizzy, right?"

"Well, I guess technically that's true, but-" Rahne was confused. '_Why is he doing this? He's not angry at all?'_

"Well, then when the teachers ask about this, it's you guys they'll go to. If you could please just say that I tripped and smacked my head off the ground, then I'd be seriously grateful. It was my fault – I shouldn't have said that about Kim, and I don't want to see her excluded for reacting. I know it sounds stupid, but please, could you?"

Rahne shook her head in disbelief. "Fine, I'll do it. Holly?" Reluctantly, she nodded, looking quizzically at Adam. "Alright then, we're both in and we'll get Anna, Carol, Sadie and Sandra to do likewise. Do you want us to speak to the others for you?"

"Just tell Scott and Kenji – they'll understand. Ask them to tell Mark, and he'll sort things with Kim. I seriously need to apologise to her right now." He looked disgusted with himself; Adam's self-hatred was in equal measure irritating and endearing. But Rahne was actually angry at this by now, and did something that had an impact she could never have comprehended at the time.

"Adam, can I ask you something?"

"Course, Rahne, what is it?"

"Please don't take offence to this, but why do the five of you hang out all the time? Pretty much every day you're fighting or arguing. I mean, something this serious was surely gonna happen, sooner or later. I don't understand it. And now that it has, you want to pretend it was an accident?"

"Wow…I guess…well none of us have ever really fit in anywhere. Not a lot of people share our interests. I mean, we get on well with folk, but it's kinda hard to hang out because of that lack of common ground. Ok, yeah, you guys are really close to Kim, but she does feel a bit out of place sometimes. So I guess it's kinda mutually convenient for us to hang out." Adam looked a bit confused as he said this. Maybe it was a bad time to ask. Maybe he really had never thought about it this way before. Rahne had been wondering for some time, and the look on Holly's face suggested the same now that it had been brought up.

"Wow, er, ok. So you're like a clique of people who don't fit in cliques. Like an "Anti-Clique" or something, aye?"

Adam's eyes lit up when she said this. It was the perfect description. They were the antithesis of a clique - an Anti-Clique. Rahne didn't intend that as a complement; after all, it seemed stupid to hang out with people purely because you don't fit in with anyone else. It quickly became their identity, however, and none of the five had ever looked back. A legend was born.

Adam kept quiet about Kim hitting him; his ruse worked, though both were given Standard Lines for causing a scene. It was put down to his clumsiness and Kim's running off was just one of those episodes she sometimes seemed to get, when she'd start acting crazily for no reason. Probably the influence of her strange friends, Rahne often joked, although these days she knew the truth was likely more sinister.

* * *

As she drifted back into reality, Rahne shivered. It wasn't because of the cold; it was the regret she realised she felt about the Anti-Clique having fought in the classroom, with each other and with their teacher, and been met with a brick wall. Nobody was innocent of causing that, including herself. Yet it was only now that she found herself caring, and she realised most still wouldn't.

Pete Morgan was a smart guy, but he knew what he was up against and it was the situation that made things so easy for him against them. His eyes gave it away though, she'd noticed it whenever he looked at an obviously distraught Holly. He was scared of them. They were a threat to him, and to this whole operation. Rahne doubted anyone else could provoke that kind of fear in the administration; for all the Anti-Clique's goddamn attention-seeking and aggravating pretentiousness, when push came to shove they got shit _done._ And as much as she hated to admit it, they were best placed to prove that again. She just had to hope and pray that the damage hadn't already been done. None of the five seemed all that stable anyway, and the three whom Rahne had seen leave certainly did nothing to prove otherwise as they left the classroom.

Using her bag as a makeshift stool on the moist grass by the cliff edge, Rahne looked out across the sea. A single faint light flashed in the distance through the morning fog, presumably coming from one of the Government's boats that were apparently circling Caphraig.. It wasn't enough to properly light the area around her, which suited her just fine. Nobody else seemed to be about, fortunately. What she wanted to do was sleep, and this kind of seclusion perhaps offered a rare opportunity to do so. It wasn't going to happen though; there was too much to think about. Was there really some sort of "legacy" the Anti-Clique were going to go after? Today wasn't the first time Rahne had had the feeling they were destined for something, and she knew she wasn't alone in thinking that. But this was different…there was something unnerving about it all.

Harsh as the wind was, it was at least more natural than anything around her. Rahne had barely taken any notice of her assigned weapon, but glancing down at the crossbow sitting beside her she sighed and loaded it. Just in case. She turned back to the sea, watching the movement of the morning tide. It was probably a better view than anything that might have been behind her.

* * *

The wind may have wondered whether Rahne's wistful ruminating had denied her the chance to find her friends; she couldn't bring herself to care. Such an attitude, had it been known, would have been seen as a sign of weakness by the very friend she may have found, Anna Wilson.

"Sandra? Sandra is that you hon?" It was tough to tell, but to Anna there was little doubt. The shadowy figure dropped to the floor and said nothing, but a quick glance at the moonlight gave it away; Sandra didn't have the most feminine of appearances, and her unusually muscled limbs made her stick out a bit more than she liked.

"Look it's me, Anna, okay? No need to be scared, look, I'm not even armed! Well, not unless you count a stick as a weapon!" Anna moved forward, holding the nunchaku non-threateningly, amazed at her luck in finding a friend so soon. Chances had been just as good that she'd run into someone more dangerous instead; of all the things you could call Sandra though, that was the last.

"Jesus don't sneak up on me like that Anna!" Sandra immediately bolted up and recoiled backwards. Anna's first reaction was to roll her eyes at this possum-like defence, but it was understandable. She threw her weapon to the floor and held her hands out to embrace her friend.

"Hon, you don't need to panic, it's okay! It's just me and I'm not gonna hurt you."

"Yeah, yeah I know. Sorry, just a bit confused about things, don't think I'm quite thinking straight!" Sandra laughed amiably, as if bemused by her own actions. Gathering herself together, she noticed the nunchaku. "Think you dropped these?"

"Thanks. Not exactly awe-inspiring if I'm honest," Anna replied, taking them from Sandra.

"What, you wanted a big weapon, like a gun or a…tank…or something? Doesn't sound like you?" Flippant as Sandra sounded, Anna could tell she was only half-joking and looked into her eyes reassuringly.

"No, I didn't." She reconsidered. "Well, not for _fighting_ or that anyway. But you've gotta defend yourself, I mean look what happened to Man-" She was interrupted by Sandra putting her hand up as she turned away.

"Please."

"Sorry I-"

"No, it's okay, but can we not talk…about that, or this thing, whatever it is? I just-I really don't want to." Sandra looked like she was going to cry, but stopped herself. She wasn't a very emotional person, and it often seemed like she was afraid of them. Certainly she didn't understand them, which made her quite strange to be around in stressful times; it could be like talking to someone from another planet.

"Okay, okay that's fine hon, I understand". Anna paused a moment. She needed something else to talk about and she needed it now. Fortunately, her mind was sharp. "Hey you know me and Jake ran into Carol the other day, she thinks she can get us tickets to the Edinburgh Festival Fringe this year. Meant to tell you guys but it slipped my mind!"

"How did she pull that off, you need to be 20 for that?" Sandra was intrigued but slightly suspicious.

"You didn't hear about her new boyfriend? It's that guy Alistair she was with when we met up with her last."

"I thought they were just friends?"

"That's what they've been telling everyone, he's 23 and everyone he knows who knows he hangs out with her is pretty unhappy about it. Hell I only found out when I caught them sneak a kiss when they thought I wasn't looking. Ageism, you've gotta love it eh?"

"Definitely," said Sandra, rolling her eyes. "So what's this about getting us tickets?"

"Oh, right! He's working the Fringe this year, so reckons he can get security passes sorted out. We might need to make ourselves look a bit older for the photos, and cos it involves cutting corners with the DNA profiling we'll need to keep our heads down, but he seems serious about it."

"Really? That's great, I've always wanted to go along. Bet Jake was excited?"

"To the point where Carol almost went home alone," Anna said, giggling. She loved Jake, everyone did. "So you want me to say to them? He said it's cool for the six of us."

"If he can do it then aye I'm game! When does it start again this year?"

"Middle of August I think. Still not told Holly Rahne or Sadie yet, but we can tell them together when we find them yeah hon?" Anna was now beaming; Alistair had always seemed like a decent guy anyway, and remarkably cool with the age difference. Okay so there was nothing illegal about someone older than 20 going out with someone younger than that, but it was generally considered social suicide. Best to keep that sort of thing quiet really.

"Course we can!" Sandra was equally excited, or as close to it as she generally got anyway, but she suddenly looked closer to sullen. "Hey Anna? There's just one problem with going to the Festival."

"Really? What's that?"

"We're not going to be alive in August. We're not going to be alive in June." All the life seemed to drain from her eyes as she said it. As it hit Anna, she felt faint. It wasn't anything she didn't already know, but it still shocked her to hear it in such blunt terms from Sandra. Anna moved quickly to embrace her friend, who looked lost.

"It's okay Sandra, it's okay hon," Anna said, tightly wrapping Sandra around her. "We're going to sort it all out, alright? You're not alone, you're with me, and I'm not going anywhere. Nor are you. I know you're scared, I am too. But I can't let you run off, we need to stick together now and find the others. Don't suppose you've seen any of the others yet as you enjoyed a nice relaxing holiday on Caphraig?" Anna managed to completely avoid any trace of sarcasm in her voice, which she was quite impressed with, though the weak, wry laughter the words were met with meant she was walking a fine line regardless. Sandra sighed.

"None of our group, but Sadie was the only one who left before me. And Jake obviously. Were you a while after me?"

"'Female student number twenty' apparently, so yeah quite a bit. Rahne left in-between us; Holly was still there when I left though. Not seen anyone before you, which is a bit weird. I did leave pretty fast though, I mean I wanted to find you!" Soppy as she sounded, she knew Sandra would appreciate it.

"You're so sweet," she replied, giggling slightly, appearing to relax just the smallest degree. "Saw a few others about though, didn't want to risk anything though by going up to them."

"Oh yeah?"

"Yeah, Dave had a big shotgun in one hand and Jade in the other which was quite cute. Kevin seemed to be wandering aimlessly, think I heard him muttering about Shanae or something, but she was still there when I left. Charlotte looks totally out her tree, she was prancing about with…I think it was a remote control car?" She and Anna looked equally bemused at the idea.

"I don't know where she got that, I don't think I want to know. If that's her weapon…" Anna realised where she was going, and stopped herself. "Shanae left right before me anyway, so if you've found me then no reason why they can't find each other." Returning to a more upbeat tone seemed sensible.

"Yeah, you're right." Sandra had to admit, she had a point, as she generally did.

"Of course I am, I'm always right!" Anna quickly replied, mocking surprise that it was ever in doubt.

"I'm trying not to think about this though, let's talk about something else." Sandra realised the futility of that; it wasn't easy to not think about imminent death when it was starting you in the face like this. It didn't escape Anna's notice that despite Sandra's resistance, she still reciprocated the hug.

"What else can we talk about? We're here, that's it. And unless we find our friends, we're in trouble. Follow me. I'll figure something out, I can't do it without you and Jake and the others. I don't have much of a weapon, but I've got a pretty sharp tongue when I need it." Anna knew what she had to do now.

"You think that would stop whoever…you know…to Manuel?"

"I don't want to ever have to find out hon, but if that person tries anything with you or the others then I'm not scared to fight back. And it's not like I'll be alone, cos you'll be with me, right?"

Sandra remained silent a moment, but Anna knew Sandra realised she couldn't escape this. That she knew Anna was right. They often joked about it, but more often than not it was true. If anyone knew what they were talking about, it was her, and what's more it wasn't Sandra. She was a nice girl, smart and tactful. All qualities which were next to useless in a crisis situation, and truth be told Sadie wasn't far different.

No, neither of them had it in them to figure a way out of here. Anna would have to do that. She hoped she'd find the others soon though, since she knew she couldn't do it alone. More people and more weapons. Without those she had no chance. At least she'd made a start though; she'd found Sandra, who looked like she was going to follow her.

"I-I guess standing around here isn't going to do us much good then? Where should we go?" Any lingering hint of resistance was gone from Sandra's eyes as she looked up at Anna. Leader. Follower. They both knew how it had to be.

"Well hon, judging by that brick by your bag it looks like we're a bit stuck if someone tries anything with us for now, so I guess first things first is to find somewhere to hole up and think of a plan. Maybe we'll get lucky and meet find one of the others on the way." Anna was speaking more authoritatively now, suppressing the admittedly unshakeable uncertainty

"And if we do meet someone dangerous?"

"Then we do what any right-thinking person would do if attacked – we run like fuck. Come on, get yourself together; we've either got a very long day ahead of us or a very very short one." With a somewhat flippant smile, Anna gave Sandra room to compose herself, and walked on as she had before. She didn't have much more of a plan than she had before she found Sandra, but at least she wasn't alone anymore. Given the circumstances, she found herself very grateful, and just a little less afraid.

* * *

A chainsaw. A hulking metal monstrosity of a device, with evil-looking teeth in its chain, and a soulless shell serving as a handle. It was useful in its own way in forestry, an unfortunately necessary part of life, but here on Caphraig there could only have been one reason for its presence, and that reason seemed to emanate darkly from it. It existed not to cut through wood but through flesh and bone.

So observed the greenish-brown eyes, pushing their way through long brown hair, of Sadie Willis. By her watch she'd left the classroom about three hours ago now, and so was taking a break on a small hill…somewhere, she couldn't quite work out where exactly she was. Having not been interested in the contents of her bag at first, other than knowing it was heavy, curiosity had now gained the better of her and the ugly thing sat beside her.

She was never going to use it of course; she was a pacifist through and through, which was inevitable given her parents were hippies. While they were by no means undisciplined, being a far-cry from the "Work? What's that?" stereotype of the lifestyle, they were nonetheless very laid back and had raised Sadie accordingly.

Small and petite, being just 5'3" she was always that cute girl who would stop and say hi to a fly if it could understand her, and that endeared her to almost everyone. Well, her popularity was a combination of that and having ready access to a large supply of some of the best weed in Perth, courtesy of her parents. She'd brought a healthy supply with her for the trip, naturally, and figured now was as good a time as any to spark up.

Lying back against the grass, a different kind of grass in her hand, Sadie quickly found herself relaxing slightly. It was stronger than she'd expected, but that was no bad thing. It wasn't strong enough though, not to put her mind at ease about all this. It hardly bore thinking about, but that wasn't an option for such an ardent pacifist as Sadie. Here she was, on what was normally such a pretty island, surrounded by death.

She had faith enough that most people wouldn't try and hurt each other, since it was a good-natured year for the most part and the majority of violent people didn't stick school out as long as S6. No denying though that some people would. That some already had…it was such a mess. How could people do that to each other? Blood wasn't something Sadie was comfortable around, and the thought of what might be to come over the next few days sickened her.

Her thoughts were interrupted as she heard footsteps nearby. Trying to remain unseen as she looked around the hill, Sadie saw a tall, fairly masculine frame, though the shoulder-length curly brown hair meant the person was female. She clearly wasn't someone who paid much attention to her appearance, being very pale and conservatively dressed. She moved with a slight sense of caution, with neither determination nor panic being obvious in her stride. It was clearly Rozelinda Mayfair.

Quickly coming up with a plan, Sadie picked herself up, leaving the chainsaw on the ground but staying in sight of it. She didn't want to startle Roz in case things turned bad, though the potential need to try and defend herself couldn't, try as she might, be denied.

"Hi-Hi Roz! How you doing?" Doing her best to sound chirpy, but clearly not succeeding, Sadie waved weakly. Roz stared back, pensive.

"Sadie. Been better." She sounded almost monotone; had the words come from anyone else they might have been an attempt at humour. Her hands were in her pockets as she tried to gauge Sadie.

"Yeah I know the feeling, everyone must be thinking the same thing huh?" _That's it, just break the ice. She's covered in it, but be reassuring, that's how to start._

"Oh I doubt that. Different people, different ideas, different attitudes. A morbid person might be fascinated by all this. That's not your style though." Roz didn't even pose it as a question; there was no need. Sadie was somewhat brazen in her politics, though that was no slight against her. She was also close to the late Zoey Volta, and death was prone to affecting rational thinking.

"You guessed aye?" Sadie laughed weakly, feeling slightly uneasy around someone of Roz's temperament. At least she didn't seem aggressive; she wasn't waving a gun around or anything.

Looking around a little, Roz caught a glance of the chainsaw and raised an eyebrow. "I didn't need to guess. You seem as afraid of your own weapon as anything else here…I don't think that's wise; that could be your salvation because it is yours. It is the weapons of others you should fear." Sadie's eyes lit up and her breathing quickened; she didn't know what Roz was carrying and she didn't want to.

"Roz stop this! What's the point of it all? Huh? Tell me, please. What good will scaring me do? We should be helping each other out! Surely you don't agree with what's happening? If you don't then why don't we try and persuade the others?" Sadie was trying hard to lock eyes with Roz, but the fear of suddenly being set upon by the stoic girl meant she was looking instead to her hands, which for now were firmly inside her coat pockets.

"Excuse me, what are you suggesting we do, and more to the point, why?" A faint hint of curiosity tinged her voice, it now being Roz's turn to feel slightly uncomfortable.

"Okay, so you've seen me lay my weapon down right? I don't want it, I don't want to use it. I don't want anyone to hurt me but I really don't want to have to hurt anyone myself. And it's harder for me to do that if I don't have a weapon. That's what we all should be doing! Getting rid of these awful things and trying to find a way out of here! You're smart and quite strong, I'm popular and people will listen to me. Put the two together, and who knows what we can do?" Excitement was now starting to take over; the more Sadie thought about the idea the better it sounded. She just needed one ally to get started, and began moving towards Roz.

"Yes, you're right. I am quite strong, and if you don't stay back I'll prove how so." This wasn't the reaction Sadie was expecting.

"Wh-what? You don't want to do this? Why not? How else are we all gonna survive if we don't try and help each other?" She didn't want to believe it, but Roz looked serious.

"We're not 'all gonna survive'. I suggest you start accepting that, as I have. It's not for me to know or understand what will happen over the next three days, but I do know there will be more bloodshed." Roz spontaneously raised a fist threateningly at Sadie, who instantly recoiled, terrified. "I suggest you reconsider your idealism, for others may not hesitate in following through with this." The fist flew through the air, causing Sadie to run backwards several feet, though the "punch" wasn't even at Roz's full arm-length.

With a dismissive snort she turned her back on Sadie and walked off, her pace slightly brisker than before. Amusing in its own way though that had been, Sadie's idealistic delusion made her a clear threat to anyone who might consider befriending her. She shook her head at the thought, and was gone.

Sadie felt her heart racing. She'd been in no danger whatsoever, with the punch clearly not intending to hit her. As Roz implied however she was lucky; lucky that she was no more than uninterested and cynical rather than a real threat. After reflecting on this a moment, Sadie shook her head and smiled. Roz had been almost emotionless for a few years now, so why should Sadie have expected her support? Others though would surely be more acquiescent. Her most loyal friends, were out there somewhere and there was no way they'd fail to stand with her. And they'd certainly never play this awful game. She just had to find them, that was all!

As she stood up to start looking, she turned back to where she'd left the chainsaw on the grass. With Roz's words echoing in her mind for some reason, she calmly and silently returned it to her bag. She paused a moment and thought. She knew it was never going to be used; that was a ridiculous idea. But it was best to have it with her all the same, in case anyone else found it and thought about using it. Just in case. That was all.


	9. Hour 5: Of Sinners, Saints and Cynics

**Hour 5: Of Sinners, Saints and Cynics**

Peter Lucianus was on a mission from God. He'd known that since he was a boy. Raised from a very young age in the teachings of Catholicism, his mother had made very clear to him that he was put upon the earth to serve the Lord. The only uncertainty he faced was how precisely he was intended to do so. However clichéd it sounded, and of course it did, to say that the Lord works in mysterious ways was true, though unlike most who spoke the words, Peter did not consider them an excuse for not studying His intentions.

It has been said that good men avoid situations they do not understand, and focus instead on those which they do, in order that they might prosper. Yet truly great men brave that which they do not understand again and again, until understanding is achieved. God's intentions could never be fully understood by anyone other than He Himself, but the way in which they would be expressed to him could only be in terms that he was capable of comprehending, as part of the mortal world. The conclusion was that increasing his overall wisdom and intelligence would be fundamental to determining his path in life.

To assist with this, God had granted Peter a sizable intellectual capacity. In his Standard Grades, he had gained 8 grade 1's, and in S5 he eased to 5 Band 1 A grades, meaning scores of 80% or higher. Few of his peers could hope to rival such scores, though that was unsurprising. _Ignorant fools, and content to remain so what's more._

Peter wished that they could see the light. Or rather, he had done in the past, before realising that to divert too much of one's attention to such realistic improbabilities risked jeopardising his personal goals. God-given distractions? Perhaps being surrounded by and forced to interact with those so inferior to him was a minor test of sorts.

Presently however such thoughts were of little relevance. This servant of the divine here faced a _true_ test of his abilities and capacities, physical, mental and spiritual. Physically, he had to survive the onslaught of his opponents. Mentally, he had to comprehend the path to victory, victory being defined in terms of God's plan for him on Caphraig rather than that administered by such as Peter Morgan of course. Spiritually, he had to maintain his faith at all costs, and use the associated wisdom and inner strength to assist with the first two aspects of his survival. As he progressed, he knew he would be rewarded – either through breakthroughs in his own self-acquired knowledge, or through divine reward.

Surveying his current location, Peter knew he had already gained such a blessing. He had made his way to the southern central tip of Caphraig, the southern side being more populated though also notably rocky along what passed for a coastline. The seas between the rocks of the island and the rest of the Western Isles were fierce, for the most part not to be tread by men save for dire emergencies. There existed gaps in his knowledge of the land's history, but the occasional small coves dug into the cliff face suggested a line of piracy had once existed in the area. Perhaps it local collaboration had inspired the creation of the lighthouse, at the top of which he currently stood.

From what could be learned from a few old markings and technical works that remained within the structure it was at least 350 years old, having been apparently constructed with the guise of assisting travel between other local islands. It seemed to Peter an argument with just enough truth to be proven, considering the local landscape. The decadence of sinners could not be underestimated, nor could their conniving. This he had always known, and it was such as this that reaffirmed that.

He had made his way to the location looking to take advantage of his relatively early exit from the classroom; a prime defensive site, it was likely that others would seek to claim it later. Of greater significance was that it was the best way to utilise the benefits of his granted weapon. The weapon God had guided his hand towards when selecting a rucksack in the classroom. A sniper's rifle.

The first consideration Peter had to make was why he had been given this, the second, how this related to his objective of completing God's requirements of him. After that came any other relevant factors. The rifle was a weapon of war. Considering the rules of this "Program" it was evidence that the organisers were serious. What it did not indicate however was how strong this weapon was relative to that received by any of his peers. Everything given could be carried in a rucksack, but the given bags were large, so as to accommodate weapons such as his own.

This meant it was reasonable to assume that small arms were the primary weapon, for a perhaps broader than usual definition of "small". The desecrated body of Manuel Noles was clearly the work of a spiked melee weapon, meaning a variety of styles had been provided for as well, presumably to increase the random variation within the Program. Peter had no interest in warfare beyond religious applications thereof, but was content with the idea that his was among the better weapons. No less than he deserved of course; his lifetime of loyal servitude warranted aid in a difficult test. That thought was reassuring.

The second question was more challenging, and that which he'd been considering since leaving the classroom. His intelligence placed him well as a teacher, and until a clearer picture of God's plans for him emerged it was what he had determined to do with his life. How he would go about this was less clear, as the current religious educational standards in schools left much to be desired, and even if qualified it would be hard to ensure he was listened to. When Peter spoke, people did listen, but sin being ignorant those with the capacity to make much needed changes could ignore him. Thus he had chosen to study theology at Glasgow University and determine his course from there.

He had an offer from as esteemed a university as Oxford, but had an innate disinclination towards returning to the south east of England. Once he had lived there, but it had been his mother's choice to leave and she would not do anything that was not at the very least approved if not mandated by God. With God being unwilling as yet to confirm the validity of studying in that area, Peter thought it best to remain in Scotland. Perhaps eight years was too short a time to have left behind the area's unbearable blasphemy and sin. It was a haven for the sacrilegious, who would defy God at every turn with their pursuit of money and vice in "The City". Not even the Sabbath was honoured by those heretics, and such a place Peter could not endure at present.

In any event, Glasgow was where his only true friend would be studying. Kim Magdalene was his protégé. A decadent sinner, yes, worse than most even. Yet her enthusiasm for her faith was unmatched by few he had ever met, and in any event she had come to him personally seeking redemption. If that poor soul could be saved, almost anyone could, even among his aggravatingly stupid peers. It felt almost blasphemous to abandon this quest before its completion. No, his mother's harsh disapproval notwithstanding, he needed to be with her.

Truthfully, it was such as this that confirmed that, in the absence of a more direct instruction, his role in life was that of aiding sinners in removing sin. Purification of sinners would certainly please his divine master, of that there could be no doubt.

And therein lay the answer to his question. Obviously the Program was designed and created by God, but the reason had until now escaped Peter. Now it became clear. His generation had sinned and on behalf of them all his high school year were to be punished with their deaths. This would be the ultimate show of purification.

Peter himself was not a sinner; he was unique in attempting to purge the sin of others. Considering he had been given a powerful weapon, God's intentions were clear. His past attempts at using Peter to educate had failed. Now the only effective means of purification was by the fire. By mortal hands these wretched traitors to the divine could not be judged; that task fell to those above, and this rifle would be the means by which the two would meet.

Having solved the puzzle, Peter felt greatly satisfied. He now had a purpose, and not only the means with which to fulfil it but also the location, having been led to this tower. As he looked out over the edge, he saw that not only did he have these things, but also two of the most wretched sinners he had ever known by which to begin his quest for purification.

Two girls passed within sight of the lighthouse. In the harsh light they were not easily visible, dressed as they were entirely in black. _If the Devil took human form he would wear such as that_. Unlike many with whose opinions Peter agreed, he did not interpret the girls' gender as automatically marking them as with sin; women were creatures of the Lord as much as man, and existed in all species. But females were unwilling instruments of Satan, who was able to access their souls and grant them seductive, deceptive capacities that preyed on the weaknesses of men. All too often they surrendered to these urges too, becoming willing instruments of unholy sexual desire. These two were particularly grievous offenders.

They fornicated regularly, and though unproven it was commonly thought they committed one of the few sins even worse than fornication itself by doing so with each other. The way their hands danced across each other was a clear indication of that to Peter. They also unrepentantly consumed substances that poisoned their mind and engaged in entertainment practices that actively blasphemed in every way. Their boasting of their atheism was the final seal on their condemnation to Hell, a place Peter now intended sending them both for eternity.

Jenna Widdowson and Jemi Britcher were unsuspecting. The lighthouse light was not on, as not even the boats the Program's organisers had to prevent escape were close to this part of the island; anyone who could escape on this side had done so with God's assistance, and thus deserved their survival. Thus it was too dark for anyone at the base of the lighthouse to clearly see whether anyone stood atop it. It mattered not of course, there was no way of escaping anyway. Peter could take his time.

Helping matters was that the gothic whores were moving towards him rather than away; for what purpose he neither knew nor cared, though as the closer they came, the harder it would be to flee should human failings cause him to miss, it was in his interest to hold fire for a moment.

As the distance closed, Peter placed the rifle through a gap in the railings atop the lighthouse's gallery. He did not want the moonlight to expose his position by shining off his scope, but the chances of that being even noticed by those below were slim. Even if they attempted entry they would fall quickly to the high-powered shots he could make. It was time.

"My goodness, and my fortress; my high tower, and my deliverer; my shield, and he in whom I trust; who subdueth my people under me." The rifle had been following the steps of the girls for a minute or to, to ensure he would judge correctly. Peter had never used a sniper rifle before, though he had studied the manual extensively. Knowing God was with him, he pulled the trigger.

As the bullet cracked through the air, its loudness caused Peter to retreat behind the cover of the railings. He had not expected the volume to be so great, and had surprised himself by not even looking to the result of his attack. Taking care not to be seen, he looked through the railings and was very happy with what he saw.

On the ground, blood poured from Jemi Britcher. Peter could see she was still breathing, but it appeared that she'd gone into shock. She was convulsing and shaking in Jenna Widdowson's arms. Peter relished her imminent condemnation, and again aimed the rifle to send her evil friend with her.

A second shot rang out, but Peter could not tell if Jenna had fallen because she'd been hit or because a violent spasm from Jemi had taken her balance. He aimed again, seeking a third shot to be sure of both kills, but the girls had fallen behind a rock. Peter sighed, able to see many in the area. They provided scant protection generally, but he could not curve a bullet past that one from this angle. A leg that presumably belonged to Jemi stuck out, but it seemed limp. What little life remained therein was gone.

Jenna was not safe yet anyway. She could not remain where she was forever, and the instant she broke cover she would be slain. For how long could she remain where she was, exposed and with her friend's dark blood presumably covering her. She deserved the suffering it must have been causing, along with that she would endure for eternity in the afterlife.

At that moment however Peter found himself looking not at the life he had just ended but to the east, where a third person had closed upon the lighthouse. The axe-wielding male was trying to remain unseen, but his death would come from above. He had no greater chance of detecting Peter than did the rotting Goths a few metres from him. Hold!

This creature was not like the others. He had faith. He was Darren Cooper, an aggressive individual who nonetheless was able to direct his passion towards causes which helped the less fortunate, those upon whom God had smiled but men had cursed. Such was his religious interest that he combined it with his prodigious musical talents, composing new pieces for the church.

Peter aimed his rifle. He had not been certain of the accuracy of the first shot, new as he was to the weapon. Now he had the confidence that even a more evasive target would fall. The girls had not expected opposition, Darren appeared to have been aware of their presence and was perhaps looking for an opportunity of his own.

Thinking on it a moment, Peter realised that their targets were the same, if indeed Jenna still lived. That however could be attributed to mere coincidence. Of greater significance was that Peter was not a sinner in the same sense that Jenna and Jemi were. God had charged Peter with the purification of sinners alone after all; it was men who had deemed that only one may leave the island.

Perhaps this represented a refinement to the rules by which Peter had to follow today. Perhaps he needed not to kill indiscriminately, but to target those known as sinners directly. After all, as a servant of the Lord, Darren himself would be receiving instructions. They were for him alone to know, but until they threatened those of Peter, there was no need to eliminate him.

Given the rules imposed by his mortal teacher, it was likely that in the future the time would come for surviving saints to determine among themselves whom was best place to fulfil God's will. In such a scenario, Peter would of course prevail. None were better in any way than he. He need not hasten needlessly though, and risk threatening his objectives. Caphraig was small, his time plentiful and the desire of the island's many sinners to purge each other for their own decadent reasons need not be underestimated. Such factors played beautifully into his favour.

After considering this a moment he returned his focus to his primary target, but dismay crossed his eyes, for Jenna was alive and had done the unthinkable and attempted to escape. She moved swiftly across the rocky ground, presumably aware that the bullet that purged Jemi came from the south. Alas, she had moved too far for as inexperienced a sniper as Peter to rely on accurately piercing her sinful hide.

Looking again, however, the disappointment soon faded. Darren now knew she was alone. Alone, fearful, and traumatised by Peter's actions. Soon to be slaughtered. Peter thought on what he had done, and what he had still to do. He felt fulfilled. As was always the case in life, saints had once again prevailed over sinners. Hallelujah.

* * *

Of all the places for Laurinda Davies to have found herself so soon into the Program, she was in the pub. The Crofter's Arms was the only pub on Caphraig, though its restaurant did have competition from a small seafood bit by the harbour for the tourists, and it was pretty much as you'd expect from such an institution on one of these islands.

It was an old stone building that had nonetheless been the subject of many attempts to modernise as the years had passed, and small remnants of various different decors could be seen here and there. As was traditional, it had two storeys, with whoever owned the pub living upstairs, and a basement cellar that served as a stockroom. As a place to hole up, Laurinda knew she could have found far worse.

What mattered in any event was that she was no longer stuck outside, exposed to the elements and to the inane backstabbing idiots that comprised most of the year. It was popularly called "cynicism", but to Laurinda it was realism – common sense. She figured most of her classmates would happily murder each other for a couple of hundred quid, let alone if their lives depended on it. She'd witnessed violence for far less in the past for a start.

She knew that being melodramatic about life wasn't a practical solution to anything. "Shit happens; get over it" was snapped at whinging ingrates often enough to be almost her catchphrase. But right now it was almost forgivable, since nothing constructive that could be done was immediately obvious. _Almost_ forgivable; she still didn't want to be subjected to it.

Laurinda had had her share of bad times in life, as had everyone else. Right now though she didn't want to think about it. Depression in a pub made alcohol an easy answer, and there was still plenty of it there. Being drunk would just affect her focus though. Whatever the solution to her current predicament though, she would need to keep her wits about her, making the kitchen a sensible place to hide. It seemed like the cooker even worked, so if she wanted toast later on she could have it; that was something the others wouldn't have at least. Small mercies weren't to be underestimated in a crisis.

The problem with being where she was, however, was that she couldn't react quickly to unwanted guests on the premises. This was especially true when said guests were conscientious enough to try to avoid making a noise. Fortunately the creaky wooden floorboards gave the game away; unfortunately the unexpected disturbance startled Laurinda, who jumped up from beside the cooker she was hiding behind. Hitting a low shelf with her head, a plate fell from it and smashed on the floor.

A moment of awkward silence followed, with both parties uncertain how to react. The intruder switched their torch on, knowing someone else was in the pub. Weapon raised, a voice called out.

"Whoever's in the kitchen, I know you're there. I don't wanna hurt you but I've got a gun, so do yourself a favour and let's not make this turn ugly." The voice was calm and cynical, though relatively high pitched for its tone. Laurinda couldn't help but crack a small smile, though practical realities forced her not to get excited. Regardless however it was pointless to pretend she wasn't in the kitchen.

"How's about I come out quietly after you drop the gun. Not like you're the only one who's armed, after all." She raised her own weapon and stepped cautiously towards the door.

"Laurinda? Is that you?" Curiosity, deliberately muffled, affected the voice.

"That depends, Hannah, on whether or not you're still pointing the gun at the kitchen door." There was no response. "Come on, who're you gonna trust if not me?

"The last words ever heard by a lot of dead idiots. Trust never made it to Caphraig." The figure in the main bar area was unwilling to drop her guard, but didn't know where to go from there. It wasn't her choice in the end.

"Fuck you whore!" Being unwilling to die of old age in the kitchen, Laurinda took her chances, ducked her head, and charged through the door, a trident in her hand. Hannah Bishop ducked for cover, dropping her gun to the floor. As Laurinda took in the bewildered look on Hannah's face, she threw her trident aside and picked up the gun. It was no ordinary pistol.

"What exactly is this thing?" she said disgustedly. Hannah looked sheepishly at the floor, trying to avert her gaze.

"Tranquiliser gun. I told you whoever you were I didn't want to kill you." It wasn't very convincing, and Laurinda stared blankly at her.

"Didn't want to, couldn't, same thing really aye?"

"Well there's enough gullible people in our year that might have just come out begging me not to open fire just at me mentioning a gun, so guess I just hoped you were one of them. Besides, if it had been real, what good would that thing have done?" Hannah pointed towards the sharp pronged metal on the ground, but didn't move to pick it up yet. Laurinda nodded back knowingly; it was only luck that Hannah didn't have a real gun and knew it that saved her.

"So what happens now? Are we gonna try and kill each other for real?" Laurinda still felt on edge, even though she hadn't been in real danger; she needed to know where Hannah stood.

"Well I know you don't want to kill me. If you did you'd have speared me as soon as you saw Mr. Sleepy." Laurinda stared blankly at Hannah, trying not to wet herself laughing.

"Mr. Sleepy? What are you, 13?"

"Fuck up, you've never named your toys before?"

"Yeah, but what kind of a name is that?" Hannah was starting to get annoyed at this, and Laurinda having given in and started laughing loudly wasn't helping.

"Look, whatever. No, I don't have any specific desire to murder you, provided you stop laughing. Most people I wouldn't give a damn about, but you're…marginally less irritating than the rest of them, and like I said you've knowingly wasted a great opportunity to kill me anyway so it looks like there's no need for blood right now." It seemed painful for Hannah to admit it, and more so for Laurinda to show the gratitude she was feeling.

"Technically I've still got the opportunity you know. But aye, you're right. I don't know what your thoughts are, but if we're clear that we kinda trust each other, then we're probably as well sticking together for now. Got the whole pub to ourselves, and this place doesn't seem that hard for two of us to defend."

Hannah considered her options for a moment. No matter what she did, Laurinda almost certainly wasn't going to try and kill her. She wasn't just suggesting an "alliance" of sorts she was actively pushing for it. But if things changed then so might she, and Laurinda was almost as misanthropic as Hannah was. Looking at the alternatives though, there were about none. If she tried to take the trident it was all or nothing, and she wasn't confident enough about her chances for that. Equally if she ran off she'd face all kinds of risks – alone.

"Alright, fine, you can stick around. Try anything though and you'll regret it." Hannah sighed heavily and glared at Laurinda. She didn't want to admit to her gratitude at this outcome; one way or the other, it was better than the one she expected when she aggressively entered the pub. Laurinda however, feeling exactly the same way, saw through it, and ignored what she said.

"So where do we go from here? Don't suppose you have any idea what we should do?

"Well considering my life goals amount to a glorified version of 'Endure existence, then die,' no, I've got nothing."

Hannah's tone made it obvious why she had so few friends. They counted each other as such, and she got on okay with Emily Green, but that was about it. She was short with brown hair and thick glasses, and had a figure somewhere between someone who had entered puberty late and just plain boyish. She'd never cared much about appearances or social interaction though, with her misanthropy being caused and perpetuated by the way people generally treated her. That kind of cycle was hard to break, as Laurinda herself knew, though she could count the popular class clown Olly King among her friends at least.

Still, safety in numbers and in the familiar had caused Hannah and Laurinda's friendship, and had now brought them together in the Program. Laurinda considered herself quite fortunate, knowing that despite being nigh-insufferable, Hannah was extremely capable and intelligent, and would make a useful ally provided she didn't shoot her mouth off at anyone of the class's numerous apparent psychopaths.

"So this is our prison is it? Not to mention our courtroom and our graveyard if we get caught by anyone deadly," Hannah mused. She was inspecting the pub as though a prospective but bored buyer of a house, idly picking away at minor imperfections in the wooden supports. It wasn't tiny, and there was only the two of them in it, but knowing that death waited outside meant they couldn't leave, which automatically made it seem claustrophobic. She understood in that moment why house arrest wasn't a whole lot better than the normal kind. Laurinda didn't reply, though Hannah paid that no mind.

Laurinda was upstairs, attempting to make herself feel vaguely comfortable, however improbable that was in the circumstances. Glancing out of the window to see what kind of a view presented itself however, her heart immediately sank and her brain started calculating possibilities. She instinctively turned her torch off.

Though Hannah wasn't much of a talker, when she did speak she expected to be listened to, since to her it automatically made clear she was making an unnecessary effort in doing so; thus Laurinda's silence bothered her slightly. Making her way upstairs to find out what was going on, Laurinda said nothing and merely directed her to the window. They were not alone.

"Okay, no fucking about, what do we do? That thing is getting closer." By thing she meant person, but it wasn't a good idea to call Hannah on that right now.

"Either we kill her, get killed by her, or do nothing and hope she goes away, those are our three options." Hannah glared at Laurinda; that wasn't helpful, though neither had much of an idea how to react to this. They'd expected they'd have at least a few hours before needing to defend themselves. "Well alright, you tell me what to do!"

"I'm not one for blood," Hannah admitted, "and the only real weapon we have is that trident and a couple of knives from the kitchen. If we had a gun, fuck it I'd shoot her from the window. Her or us right?" It was a gut reaction that she didn't really mean, but in the circumstances she just wanted to do _something_, as long as it wasn't just standing on the stairs.

Hannah being more scared than she was willing to admit, even to herself, Laurinda was the first to realise what had to be done and took Hannah's tranquiliser gun from her belt.

"Hey what are you-"

"Shut up and get the trident. Stay close but out of sight." Laurinda was trying not to think about things. The windows and doors were all sealed shut and the curtains closed for security, ironically making this more difficult now since she didn't want to draw attention to herself. Returning to the window through which she first saw the figure, Laurinda quietly hid underneath it and undid the seal, bading Hannah guard the door. Softly opening the window without drawing back the curtain, the gun poked through and her eyes just behind it.

Laurinda fired twice towards the ground, unable to see well enough to aim correctly but fearful of what her victim might be carrying. Both shots missed and hit the ground beside the girl, causing her to look up in fear. The starlight shone just well enough against her collar to expose her neck. Two more shots were fired, the first bouncing off the collar but the second piercing the skin just beside it. Laurinda retreated, listening intently to the yelps of pain while gesturing Hannah to join her.

Outside, Rozelinda Mayfair was feeling more emotion now than she had done in a long time. Whatever had just hit her had done so with some power, and when she removed it from her neck, a small amount of blood seeped out. It felt like a bee or a wasp with a small hypodermic needle for a stinger had just attacked her, and it was uncomfortable. Looking at the object, it was hard to establish exactly what it was.

Yawning, she realised with horror that she'd been hit with anaesthetic. Whoever had done it was hiding in the pub, so she fled in case of further assault. The poor light was not conducive to an easy escape however, nor did she know to where she might run anyway. She was afraid. Fear wasn't something she was used to feeling; not even when the Program was announced had she truly felt it, at least not to this extent.

Her resistance to the darkness of sleep faded after some time, though whether it was seconds, minutes or hours was beyond her knowledge. Not knowing if she would ever awaken, Roz collapsed upon the ground a hundred metres or so from the pub, unconscious.

Keeping a healthy distance behind her, Laurinda and Hannah were upon her within moments of her collapse. Checking her pulse, they could see she was alive. Nervous glances were exchanged between them.

"What now?" asked Laurinda. Hannah was already answering the question by emptying the contents of Roz's bag into her own. She sighed when she saw the sleeping girl's weapon.

"How British, that the people hiding in a pub get a set of darts. Fancy a game?" Her sarcasm felt almost violent. Laurinda ignored her and turned back towards the pub. "Hey it's called a joke, retard. Help me out here."

"I'm getting my stuff. No idea how long Roz will be out for, but if she wakes up and finds us still here I don't think she'll be happy, do you?" Hannah wasn't the only one in a poor mood right now.

"Do you really think we'll be safer out here than in there?

"Don't know, don't care. I'm not staying here; you can please yourself. Come with me if you like, but no, I don't know where the fuck I'm gonna go." Hannah didn't respond, continuing instead to loot Roz's body. When Laurinda returned, Roz was left with no possessions but an empty bag and the clothes on her back. Hannah had taken all her things, even her watch, compass and map.

"When she wakes up – if she does – she'll have no idea who or where she is. But don't feel bad, she'd have done the same for us." Hannah seemed remarkably calm. But then cynicism was a way of life for her, and in this sort of situation, it was another word for realism. As Laurinda smiled in knowing agreement, the Queens of Sardonism escaped in search of a new hiding place, leaving behind the ransacked body of Rozelinda.

* * *

Life was a thing that needed a backdrop to keep it interesting, to keep one's attention. For some people that backdrop was pretty lights or colours; for others, it was sensations. Still others however saw the world through sound.

"Can you even see in a culture of hate,

That loyalty dies in the midst of the fight?

Will God come to you, when there's a knife at your back,

When green turns to red, and white turns to black?"

Music had always been a key part of Kim Magdalene's life, though it seemed somewhere between ironic and disturbing that the artist on her mind right now was Daniel McTaggart. He sang of the green grass of the fields soaked red with blood, and morality, the Light, turning grey or black. His determination to use God as a weapon against those with faith in either Him or the Government notwithstanding, genuine passion exuded from his voice, and he'd been an inspiration to Kim and her friends.

The Anti-Clique were spiritual politicians as far as Kim was concerned. Adam Lewis and Scott Irving were predominantly political, Mark Johnson and Kim herself predominantly religious, and Kenji Kamin was both at once. Daniel's folk-punk stylings held appeal with all five, since he called out the Government on the hypocritical fallacy that society was becoming. What's more, he focussed on the rights of the oppressed rather than aggressing against those responsible for the oppression. The group were loyal fans, and supported and promoted him at every opportunity.

At least, they did for a while. They first discovered him while he was in first year of university, making them S3s at the time. By the time he reached the end of his course though he'd changed. He got married to an outwardly nice but inwardly ambitious and calculating girl, Eliza, a childhood friend of his backing singer and own best friend, Marie Harlow. Daniel's politics became less subtle and more directly abrasive.

The shift was gradual, but it was his changing personality more than his lyrics that Kim noticed. He'd given up on fighting for student rights, and instead wanted to fight against the Government. Petty vandalism here, public disturbances there, that was no big deal. The Anti-Clique had done worse. That was only how it started though; Daniel and his core "non-subjugated ones" moved eventually to actual _bona fide _terrorism. When an attack on a Government building with firebombs left a well-known Perth official with 1st degree burns all over his face, the three of them received lengthy prison sentences.

By that time, the Anti-Clique had seen sense and officially distanced themselves. They had no choice! Kim had to admit there was a bit of a thrill in protesting, in doing something that carried real consequences if you got caught, but the thrill was in getting away with it and becoming known for doing a good thing. The riot in the school that Peter Morgan spoke about for example; the audacity of Scott in suggesting it, and the others in helping to pull it off, defied belief. But through things like that they gained power as a group, and extorted as much as they could from the school administration. That however was a far cry from nearly killing a man just for doing his job – two wrongs never made a right, so the man's reprehensibility was irrelevant. In order to keep helping the other students, the Anti-Clique had to accept a status as moderates among student protesters. Kim couldn't care less that the extremists denounced them though; she never wanted to be associated with that anyway.

It was ironic therefore that Daniel had succumbed to the hate he warned against in _Prestwick Airport_, one of his early songs. He and the Anti-Clique had essentially betrayed each other though, refusing to help each other when requested to. And now, here on Caphraig, people were already betraying each other. Blood already soaked the ground, formerly moral people like Mr. Morgan showed previously unseen colours.

Of course there was more than met the eye with Morgan; Holly was one of Kim's closest friends, so he knew Morgan better than many of the other students in social terms. He was genuine when he expressed remorse for what he was doing; whatever the truth actually was, it certainly wasn't that his own free will and nothing more caused him to murder Zoey Volta. She briefly pondered how he felt at that moment. Anything to distract her from her current pressing concern – a beer bottle, sitting in front of her on the ground.

Morgan had never been a pushover, as a teacher or a father, though Kim knew one could be forgiven for thinking so. He combined efficiency with empathy in order to best manage two key duties – maintaining order and running the school as an assistant head teacher should, and relating to the students in a way that enabled him to help them however he could. Kim had used her influence with him to exploit these tendencies ruthlessly for the benefit of the Anti-Clique, and in so doing learned much about him.

It was how she could say for certain that he was telling the truth when he claimed not to be running the show today; the look in his eyes in the classroom was of a man being forced to choose his own life or those of his charges. Less obviously, his unintended outburst suggested the stakes for him were higher, and his inability to so much as look at his daughter proved it. His family were at risk. Was that the choice he faced? To murder an innocent girl or know his inaction had murdered his innocent family?

If that was the case it meant he was playing the game too. He was nothing but a pawn of the Government and no more or less guilty of any sin committed on Caphraig than she or her classmates. The soldier who seemed to be in charge? He was perhaps representing the Government, though his determination to demonstrate authority was too overt for someone who already had it. That man, whoever he was, feared the students. An upstanding man of honour and status, not used to being in the same district let alone the same room as a bunch of foul-mouthed sinners, drinking, taking drugs, fornicating and otherwise causing offence as much as they could get away with. The law's view on the subject was meaningless. Only God could change human nature, and due to free will He wouldn't anyway.

There, those words again re-entered Kim's mind. She was a sinner; a creature of illicit consumption with a string of police cautions for incitement to unlawful protesting, implied though never proven to have included calls for violence. She was no terrorist, but had swung a punch or two in the past at those in her way.

But one aspect of her being remained pure and untainted; in only one way could she claim she was completely without sin. Her chastity. Originally a mere symbolic declaration of her faith when she discovered hers, it had gone beyond the common sense it made for an 11 year old to declare it and become the last refuge of her moral being, along with her faith itself. For so long as she retained each, Kim could claim purity. Stupors and highs were more reliable comfort blankets, but every now and again the relief of her success in being unwavering in this position served just as well.

Her brief joy at another reaffirmation of this though was stabbed by the realisation that she was once again thinking of earthly matters, relevant to her current situation. She felt like she was waking up after a beautiful dream the night before a horrible day at work or some such.

It was dawn in the late spring, so the first hints of sunlight were starting to emerge, though it was still dark enough to make it hard to see where one was. Kim's map dangled around her neck but she paid it no mind. She couldn't give a toss where she was. Her allocated "weapon" was kept as far away from her neck as possible, being presumably a taunt from God. Rationally, He was once again leaving affairs to mankind, meaning pure chance gave her the bag containing the noose. But her heart saw more comfort in blaming the Almighty for it.

Scott was an ardent atheist and used such statements as evidence of the rationality of his beliefs. But then, Scott's spirituality was rooted differently to Kim in that he liked to be in control of his destiny. The way Kim was, she didn't want to be, and she didn't believe she was. Her beloved crucifix waved gently around her neck, across the map. It was the greatest comfort she had right now, being the physical embodiment of God in this place…and more than that.

Kim turned her back on the bottle sitting in front of her, took the crucifix in her hands and softly kissed it, thinking fondly of the man who gave it to her. Her personal spiritual adviser, who served as the big brother that Kim, having two sisters for siblings, had never had. Peter Lucianus had made it his mission in life to save her from herself; they each believed that God had sent him to her.

She had only started going to church age 11, looking for spiritual answers to her mortal problems. Her father had become aware of this boy's authority and wisdom, despite both having only recently moved into the area. Kim was newly from Cardiff, and Peter, Kent, though it didn't take long for the latter and his mother to make their presence felt.

The odds of their having met in one corner of the country having come from two others were too remote to be coincidental. It was His doing, and every day Kim felt grateful for having him in her life. He could be very strict, certainly, and seemingly took pleasure from little other than religious things, but that was what she needed from him. She was a sinner, she had vices, she partook of thoughts deeds and behaviours that seemed to beg for damnation. To be saved, she would have to put her sin to the sword.

That was where Peter helped. The fact that he had no tact, or any social skills whatsoever, was quite useful in its own way. What he had was a capacity to connect with a person's inner being. Limited though his empathy was to determining how faithful a person really was, whether they claimed to be or not, it meant he knew that Kim's cries for God's mercy were genuine.

The path to Salvation was long and arduous, and simply leaving her sin at the door had been tried and failed. Somehow, Peter accepted that. He despised her friends in the Anti-Clique, yet accepted them too because he saw that they made her happy and helped her in their own way. For someone so intolerant of his own definition of "decadence", which was broader than that of most, this was surprising. He permitted far more from her than he did anyone else.

But then, the rules he applied to Kim weren't the same ones by which he held everyone else. She was trying for Salvation, and between that and the fact that he fancied her, somewhere down the line the rules changed. That made her laugh, even in the current situation. He'd never told her, and probably hardly even knew it, but not even someone with the social IQ of a toddler could deny his latent biological urges. Even if he could admit it he wouldn't want to; he saw himself as a saint, Kim was a sinner. His mother couldn't stand her in any capacity, her cries for redemption being seen by her as naught but lies aimed at destroying Peter. If only she knew!

The only problem was, as much as Kim loved Peter, and she did, it wasn't in that way. He naively believed otherwise, but he didn't provide her with that kind of emotional fulfilment. That task fell to Mark, who put up with her issues no matter how bad they got, and always hungered for a larger role in her life. As if that were even possible! She didn't want to say it until she was emotionally ready to deal with everything it entailed, but she was very much in love with him, and knew the feeling to be mutual.

Peter however, had never accepted him. Even though he was mentally incapable of understanding love in any way other than that extended by God to everyone, and even though Mark and Kim had never gotten around to forming an "official" relationship, Peter knew Mark reached her in a way that even he couldn't, and he resented him for it. He targeted all her group equally so as not to specifically alienate any one person, but all three of them knew whom he really hated. Not even his strong faith protected Mark from him, when usually it was the only thing in a classmate he considered a redeeming feature. Mark of course returned the dislike, but whenever they came to blows Kim refused to relent to either one. If they loved her, they wouldn't kill each other over her; it was as simple as that.

Thinking of Mark was normally a sure-fire way for Kim to feel peaceful. Wherever she was, whatever she was doing, he was there, in her heart and soul. He was her heart and soul, no one save God himself had greater claim to them than him. Right now though, he was in danger.

He was still in the classroom when Kim left, and because of the risks she couldn't wait for him. For all she knew he was all alone, as she was herself. Several hours had passed. More than an hour still remained before those who had died first would be declared, and the thought of his name or Peter's being on it plunged her into tears.

Kim fought a desperate battle with her mind to not think about it, to return her thoughts to the happy times of being together with Mark, anywhere at all but there. It was for nothing. Thinking of such times only reaffirmed in her the likely reality of the situation, which was that they would never happen again. Everything she knew, everyone she knew, was dying if not dead already, followed or preceded by herself.

Her hand had found its way into her pocket. She withdrew it and saw a single tablet of ecstasy, subconsciously withdrawn from a small packet in her pocket. Cursing the futility of her plight and the absence of any hope, she turned back around to the beer bottle, placed the pill under her tongue and felt the alcoholic liquid flow into her mouth and body as she drank.

In that moment Kim Magdalene, the so-called "Virgin Mary" for her chastity and second name, felt a relief she hadn't known since coming to Caphraig. That the respite could only be temporary was a million miles away from her concern; it enveloped her, consumed her and made her happy. At last she was where she wanted to be, at last she was where she belonged. And with all the tragedy and death surrounding her, she couldn't understand why she'd want to be anywhere else but inside her bottle of beer. The music in her head had turned to that of her beloved clarinet; it played a happy tune, for at last she had reason to smile again. She couldn't think of any reason why she need ever stop.


	10. Hour 6: The Skater and the Broken Bird

**Hour 6: The Skater and the Broken Bird**

Being in the Program meant facing up to a few home truths, questioning the realities of your life, and considering who could be trusted. For Olly King, the answer to that question was simple – everyone, or close to it. Even in such dangerous times, and even with a dead body outside the classroom, Olly was convinced that the fear induced in everyone by the Government rather was the problem they faced. Not everyone in the year got along, and there were a few weak relationships, but for the most part everyone got along. Even if the others didn't see things that way, by taking the initiative in extending trust, you increased the chances of being shown it yourself.

This was how he'd stumbled into a relationship with the one girl nobody expected he of all people would ever go out with, Natasha Checketts. Olly was the class clown, a position that wasn't contested due to his main rival, David Remnant, being a socially maladjusted Goth. Tash, on the other hand, was stuck up and sardonic, and known to hate anyone she considered inferior to her. In other words, most people.

"You're deluded. You…do know that, right? Because I want us to be clear on that. I know you've always tried to see the good in people and I honestly think that's adorable, but when you gonna wake up a bit?" Tash had left the classroom just before Olly, and not considering anyone who left after her a threat had chosen to wait around to see if he turned up. He did, and was obligingly following her in return for her generously waiting.

"Always look on the bright side of life…always look on the right side of life! If life seems jolly rotten, there's something you've forgotten! And that's to laugh and smile and dance and sing!" Olly sang in as grotesquely happy a tone as he could manage, which almost earned him a slap from Tash. She considered it for a minute, but realised she didn't have the heart. Most people tended to agree that she didn't have one at all. What was Olly thinking?

"Laugh it up all you like, but sooner or later you're gonna have to face the facts. You don't have a plan, you can't get one and you can't pull it off."

"Tash, come on, the relentless cynicism is a bit boring, don't you think? I don't see you with any better ideas like!" Tash turned around and started moving again, slightly faster than before. Olly sighed and followed.

Despite his obedience, Olly knew he was right. Tash had no idea what to do. Olly's idea was to rally the class, getting everyone together to settle any remaining differences and work things out together. He knew a few others would already have that idea, so it was just a case of forming a coherent plan with them. Tash remained unconvinced, despite his attempts to change things. Yet for all her talk, bitchiness and general dark attitude towards people, she wasn't a fighter. In this place, killing meant getting down and dirty and doing it yourself. She didn't have that in her.

Her strange social attitudes were understandable though, given some of what she'd been through. She wasn't one for melodrama or whining about her past, but Olly knew that sexual abuse had taken place when she was younger. She'd been adopted from Sri Lanka as a toddler and fallen foul of the system. Olly was her first boyfriend in whom she saw something other than sex, and he liked to think he was helping her with her issues. It wasn't her fault she didn't trust people; seldom in her life had she been given cause to do so. So for all that she dismissed his eternal optimism as petty, Olly knew it was important to her, just as her dark cynicism attracted her to him.

As he traipsed along behind her, he sighed, knowing that she wasn't the only one for him. The skater boy punk rocker had fallen into this relationship accidentally, and at least part of that was his attraction to his best friend, who was rather like Tash but without the high class fashion taste or superiority complex.

So he had to face up to reality when on Caphraig? Then even if he'd never admit it to Tash, he had to at least confide in himself that the girl he really wanted to be following right now was Laurinda Davies – whom Tash hated. Olly just had to hope that his determination to be the good guy wouldn't make him the nice guy who finished last.

"Hurry up, I'm losing sight of you!" Tash seemed to be losing patience fast. Realising this, Olly ran to catch up to her, continuing to whistle Monty Python songs as he did so.

* * *

Kenji Kamin was confused. Everything was weird and unnerving, and it was tough for him to get his head around things. The boy was a bit of an anomaly within the class, which left him oddly placed when thinking about how he might be treated. He was aligned with the Anti-Clique, meaning he wore the badge labelled "annoying and irritating" that they all did. The flipside was that Kenji was unique even among them.

He held both their defining interests – politics and religion – but unlike the others he was an easygoing, open-minded prankster. Ah those Japanese puppy eyes, curse of many trying to get one over on him. Despite his differences though he was one of them, and the only one who was genuinely idealistic rather than simply pretending to be. He held the thought a moment; there was someone nearby.

"Thera? Of all the people, how are you doing?"

Thera May was vaguely aware of someone addressing her nearby, but wasn't really interested in whoever it was. The sun was starting to poke out through the clouds, suggesting a nice day. That made sense; it was her holiday and she deserved a nice day. Anything else wouldn't have been fair on her. She'd never been to Caphraig and was admiring the scenery, a curious mix of greenery and rough rocks. She wasn't quite sure where she'd wandered to but exploring was fun all the same.

"Hello? Can you hear me?"

A faint buzzing sounded in Thera's ear, but she ignored it. She had barely a care in the world right now; after all it wasn't like anyone would ever hurt her. She was too nice for that! She was tall and slender with curly brown hair that sat just nicely around her shoulders, framing her warm blue eyes. Sporting her usual black jacket and blue jeans combo, she knew how good she looked right now. Hell most people would be too in awe of her to even think about causing any problems. They usually were, as she saw it.

"Listen, I need you to help clear things up for me. Have you seen-"

"Everybody's talking at me. I don't hear a word they're saying, only the echoes of my mind," Thera sang sweetly to herself, to drown out the background noise. All she wanted to hear was her own mind. It wasn't that she didn't like people; quite the opposite, she liked everyone and they liked her. It was why she'd joined the drama club – it gave her the chance to showcase her talents to people, and they the chance to show her admiration.

Turning around, Thera saw someone standing not far from her. Whoever it was seemed to be trying to speak, but she could hear no words. His lips were moving, but if he was talking she couldn't hear it. It was a curious sight, and she stood a moment, gazing at the person, who had now started gesturing randomly. _Oh, he's wandered off. What was that about?_

Come to think about it, Thera didn't care. She was a patient, approachable woman most of the time, but right now she was tired and didn't really want an audience. What she wanted was somewhere to lie down and enjoy the scenery. She looked at her map, wondering if there was a beach anywhere. It didn't matter. All that did was that she was on holiday with all her friends, and more to the point they were all here with her. This really was such a pretty little island, she thought.

_

* * *

They hate you, you know. They all do. Because you killed her. And don't even try to claim you didn't. Now you're going to suffer._

"I _am_ suffering God I just want it to end help me!"

_No one can. You're alone. It's where you've always been, where you belong. You're on a collision course with destiny and a lot more people will die before it comes to pass._

"I don't even know what my destiny is."

_Of course not. It's a secret, the one that the world is keeping from you. Just like you've kept secret from the world the reason behind it all, the reason why you are and ultimately have always been on a different wavelength from everyone you've ever known. Save the one girl whose need for your help changed your life forever. How ironic that your pain gives her comfort; the solace that comes with knowing she's really two of a kind – a terminally ill castaway of a world that rejects you both. You're thinking about that day aren't you? Watch your head._

Rebounding off the tree in front of him, a dazed Adam Lewis fell to the ground, the forward momentum he'd built up from the last several hours of running sending him flailing backwards. He didn't have time to watch where he was going.

"Be still my thoughts get away run away take me to dreamer's hideaway! Oh come on you fucking idiot, I'm still sane yet."

He'd been running ever since he left the classroom, and his meagre stamina was all but exhausted. He had no destination. No idea how to find the girl who could unlock the secrets of the Legacy of the Anti-Clique. Where could Holly Morgan be? But now Adam felt himself descending into the past. His subconscious was right; the day he discovered what he was enveloped him.

The one girl was Kim Magdalene. Adam had known of her depression since she started hanging around with their group. At the time she didn't fully understand it so, once she felt properly secure around her new friends she'd come to them. Adam's true help though came as a result of a fateful encounter, one that she had put down to God's guiding influence.

His mind pictured her perfectly. She was of average height and slender in an indifferently feminine kind of way; by no means did she have film star looks, but on her day she could give the more traditionally beautiful girls like Holly a decent run. Her eyes, though a window into a troubled past, were warm and inviting. Due to her addictions however she lately looked increasingly emaciated – something she tried to stave off with makeup, though even that wasn't really enough these days. There was no sexual attraction between Kim and Adam, but if there had been he wouldn't have said no.

But no, he was her friend and just wanted to help her. It was all he had ever wanted, it was what he liked to do and for his part he was good at it.

"No!" Deliberately breaking his own chain of thought, fury now filled him at falling into such a daydream. "I'm on a hunt, I'm searching for someone. I don't have time to reminisce about my past!"

_Adam, your past is relevant to your future. Where you are going can only be determined through consideration and understanding of from whence you came._

"I've no wish to think about myself. I hate myself, just as everyone else rightly hates me for the attention-seeking murderer that I am. Claims that it wasn't my fault are useless and irrelevant. What's done is done. Maybe I can change their opinion – maybe I can't. Either way, devoting my time to anything but my quest is just a waste."

Picking himself up off the ground, Adam looked at the tracking device in his hands. From what he could establish of it, it had some sort of connection to the collars. He struggled to make complete sense of it, but in some far corner of it a red dot beeped. Lacking any other clues, he ran off in its direction.

Although his thoughts were no longer on it, Adam knew that Kim was the only one who could fully understand what he was going through, as she was the only one who knew. He'd accidentally interrupted her in the middle of an attempt to hang herself, having forgotten he was due to visit her. They'd been fourteen at the time, but it was neither the first nor last time for her. Still, Adam's invitation to accompany her to therapy sessions was much appreciated, and it became an event for them that not even Mark Johnson or Peter Lucianus was involved with.

Yet Adam's own behaviour had come to the notice of the doctors before long. His public dialogues with his own subconscious, his involuntary, nonsensical speech, occasional panic attacks and emotional instability, especially when under extreme duress – after the first few attendances with Kim, her therapist and her staff had seen them all, and eventually persuaded him to talk to them in his own right.

It wasn't long before a diagnosis was given, which in turn gave Kim the chance to repay Adam's loyalty by going along with him when he visited the doctors for therapy or advice. She herself, as one who hid her condition from all but her chosen few friends, was able to help him. He didn't even want the rest of his group to know about it, only Kim. Thus he learned to work around it, and live as close to a normal life as possible.

In the classroom, many considered Adam insane, as indeed they had done for most of the years they'd known him. None but Kim knew, or would ever know, how right they were. For it was their little secret that on October 25th 2016, just two days before his 15th birthday, Adam Lewis was diagnosed with schizophrenia.

* * *

Since the Program had begun some six hours ago, everyone would have had their own perspectives on what to do. In all likelihood, some would have struggled with the concept, finding it difficult to work out whether surviving was worth it, and if it was then how to go about ensuring it. For others though it was all too easy. Man's survival instinct could not and should not be denied, and apparently the only way to act on that was to kill everyone in one's way. For Darren Cooper, the only problem was that he wasn't the only one with the latter idea in mind.

Someone had had a really good idea early on, by waiting outside the school and picking people off early. What wasn't so clear, aside from who it was, was why there was only one body. The people who left after Manuel were no more threatening than he was, so why stop with him? He hoped it was because whoever did it lost the taste for doing so. In that case, the killer was him or herself a target.

Still, such wanderings of the mind were pointless. He had to stay focussed as long as he could, for Darren had targets of his own in sight. Patience was a virtue, so it was said, and such had to be his approach. He'd seen them walking together relatively carefree not long after leaving the school, and decided to follow.

Jenna Widdowson and Jemi Britcher had definitely been two of those likely to take the rest of the class on; they hated just about everyone in it, which was entirely mutual. Anyone with a clear shot at them would probably have taken it gladly, either to get rid of evil people or to stop them getting the first attack in.

And that was the thing – someone had already done exactly that. Minutes ago, an unknown sniper had slaughtered Jemi, leaving Jenna on her own, fleeing death from two angles. Darren had bided his time because his weapon, a battle axe, was comparable to the sword carried by one of the girls and the spike apparently held by the other. Between them they were probably too much for him in a straight fight; he wanted to look for a chance to separate them. Now his saviour from above had given him his cue. He'd broken cover and charged after Jenna.

Of course, it was a gamble; the sniper was in the lighthouse and had no reason not to take out Darren himself. It was too late to worry about that though. For without having seen him in advance Darren had three choices: try and climb the lighthouse to kill the sniper, flee, or go after Jenna. All three included the risk of death by high-powered rifle, so he opted to stick with the original plan – Jenna was dangerous enough when happy, and if she had a chance to get her head around Jemi's death then God help anyone on earth in her way.

So Darren ran roughly north-west across the harsh, stony ground, fearing a bullet going into his back but trying not to think about it. His pianist's fingers gripped his axe threateningly, making sure Jenna knew what fate awaited her when she stopped running. He wasn't athletic, being another skinny boy of average height, but he'd spent every minute since leaving the classroom psyching himself up for this.

Nothing else mattered anymore. It was all for one, not one for all. Anyone who _wouldn't_ try and kill him wasn't making it out alive either way, so what else could he do but take on those who would? This sadistic bitch was certainly in the latter category.

Like everyone else in the year, Darren had been on the receiving end of abuse from her in the past. He was religious and liked to do charity work, including spending time abroad during school holidays. She was atheist and enjoyed demeaning his faith. He didn't care if she thought he took it too seriously; organ music wasn't the most popular genre but he had a natural talent for it, and with his church needing an organist who was he to turn down the offer?

As he ran, he briefly considered God's role in all this. Truthfully he didn't think he played one. To Darren, God was more the kind of being who observed mortal affairs than took direct control of them. The paradox of free will had struck again, and left God himself facing a Catch-22 situation. A satirist couldn't have written that one better. In any event, it left him on his own. Thou shalt not kill, but if he made it out alive, Darren knew he could make it up to God in other ways. This was Hobson's choice and no more; surely that wasn't Hell-worthy?

His thoughts returned to more pertinent matters; Jenna had lost her footing and fallen on a grassy knoll. No more bullets had flown past, and both she and Darren were still alive, so for whatever reason the sniper hadn't followed up his earlier attack. But that was no longer relevant. Not far before the horizon, about a mile away, a broad forest loomed. Jenna had apparently hoped to hide therein, which Darren had to admit was a nice idea. But then it was her general aptitude as much as her physical strength that made her a threat in the first place.

He wasted no time with brazen speeches or savouring the moment. There was no beauty in the kill, it was an ugly but necessary business, and his task was not completed until the last life had been extinguished from his opponent. His double-sided axe swung down and forward towards Jenna, but she was not prone as she momentarily appeared, quickly rolling over and meeting his weapon with her own.

Jenna was arched awkwardly on the slight incline, appearing as though sitting on the floor and leaning backwards over the arm of a sofa. It was a position that afforded little defensive opportunity, and with Darren's axe blade being heavier than that of her katana she could not easily push free. She tried to kick him off balance with her legs but Darren jumped back slightly to stop her, pushing his arms forward. He knew however that he could not break her sword this way, nor would forcing it into her face do anything. Yet withdrawing his axe might have given her the chance to make a return strike. The discomfort Jenna's posture caused her back benefitting Darren, he made it worse by forcing her arms towards her head with his own.

Seeing her in pain, he decided to try and force her to make herself more vulnerable, by stamping hard on her left foot. Jenna cried out in pain, the return pressure exerted against Darren's axe released. Drawing the axe back, he quickly swung for her right side, only to miss as she threw herself to her left, off the incline and face-first into the muddy grass. The axe hit the rock underneath the thin layer of mud and grass, but Darren attacked again swiftly, with a forward motion, hoping to catch her on the ground before she could recover.

This time however it was he who was caught unawares, as Jenna extended her legs to trip him, drawing them in when she fell so as not to be trapped as she was a moment ago. She could only catch Darren's right knee awkwardly on the inside, but as he had not expected it, it was enough to disrupt his balance. Her left heel struck his right ankle from the outside as the axe fell clumsily forward, Darren's full strength no longer guiding the thrust.

The slightly awkward ground meant Jenna couldn't pull herself to her feet as easily as she'd have liked, so she instead rolled towards him so that she was between Darren and his axe. Her right leg shot up in an instant between Darren's legs, sending him immediately recoiling from the pain. Now Jenna could get back on her feet.

Her pupils were large, her mind unable to fully process what had just happened. She dared not even try and think about it. An axe was before her, and the boy holding it still did so with murderous intent.

Darren was shaken by the unexpected counterattack, but did his best to stay focussed. Regaining his balance and ignoring the throbbing pain in his groin, he quickly raised the axe for another swing. As it cut through the air diagonally down towards Jenna's right side, her katana met it in midair. She wasn't even looking directly at it or him and had swung blindly. Darren could only look on in horror as he saw the axe blade fall to the ground, severed at the top of the shaft.

Nausea filled him as he took a step backwards, a foot long column of wood his only defence against an enraged Jenna and her katana. He tried to choke out a cry for mercy, but could only splutter. She nonetheless seemed to realise what he was doing.

"Go on, try it. You're charismatic, people believe your lies don't they? Did God tell you to kill me? Did He "send" you after me and Jemi don't even try to deny it I know you were following me!"

Darren could see that there was little coherence to Jenna's words and thoughts right now, but he could also see that it was no longer his problem. In his final seconds he tried to accept the inevitable slicing of her katana as it cut deep into his chest. As it entered his body just below his right shoulder, she forced it into him and cut diagonally down the length of his torso. Darren was already long dead when she withdrew and began to hack wildly at his body, blood drunk.

After several minutes Jenna allowed herself to fall again upon the rock jutting out of the knoll. Her breathing was fast paced but erratic, her mind feeling caught between realities. She was vaguely aware that she wasn't safe, but was in no position to do anything about that for now. If nothing else, she was safer than the late Darren Cooper. That was something, anyway.


	11. Hour 7: First of the Funerals

**Hour 7: First of the Funerals**

"Good morning…children. I hope you are all having fun, but staying strong. If any of you are sleeping, now would be a good time to wake up." Peter Morgan's voice sounded confused and almost monotone. Having been unsure of what he should be saying, he'd made the mistake of going to his government representative, Lieutenant-Colonel Stevenson, for advice.

Stevenson had written a speech for him, but it showed very clearly that the man had had almost no interaction with students since last he was one himself. The impressed grin on his face as Morgan began reading it soon faded, as he tore it up almost immediately. Mouthing and gesturing melodramatically to Stevenson what he was doing likely wasn't going to do their relationship any good, but it seemed appropriate.

"Alright, let's start again. I'm your teacher Mr Morgan and this is the first six-hourly update of whom among your ranks are still alive. I'll also be announcing the first danger zones to exist beyond the classroom, so you're advised to take notes."

Morgan sighed as he looked at the notes provided by one of Stevenson's men. Morgan himself was exempted from constantly watching the screens, though apparently that had more to do with Stevenson's propensity for slave-driving those under his command than the mandate of Morgan's role. At least the list was quite short this time.

He was very tired; he hoped to sleep for a while after the last of the students entered the Program, but having been forced to murder an innocent girl that was impossible. Still, by pretending to do so he was able to avoid Stevenson for a few minutes, his wont to abuse his air horn notwithstanding.

"The first death you all saw; thus you know it was Zoey Volta, whom I killed. Next was Manuel Noles, who was killed by Elyse Backman. He was followed by Jemi Britcher, whose life was ended by Peter Lucianius, and finally Darren Cooper, killed by Jenna Widdowson." The words were almost choked out, but Morgan tried to keep his composure, since he knew the consequences of non-compliance.

"As indicated to you, from hereon in there will be a danger zone activated every two hours. That is to say, if you enter these zones once active, your collar will be detonated. The system is automated, and controlled by satellite-designated demarcations linked to the government's computer systems on the mainland, therefore it is literally impossible to prevent detonation should you enter a zone. Even if anyone in this room were to have either the inclination or the capacity to spare you, which they do not, deactivation from the mainland takes longer than it does for the collar to explode. So consider yourselves forewarned. Anyway, as of 7am, B1 is an active danger zone. As of 9am, G5, and at 11am, J9.

"I've been advised that I should offer you words of encouragement in this difficult time. The truth is I can't bring myself to lie to you any more than you already have been. You're on your own, unless you can find temporary allies. You need to find your own source of strength if you don't want to be the next on my list, and you need to accept that you're all going to die in the next three days. One of you will survive, but it's up to you to demonstrate it if you're determined that it's going to be you. Good hunting, and I'll talk to you again at midday." With that, Morgan switched off the microphone and turned around. Stevenson was livid.

"What are you playing at you idiot teacher? You were briefed on how it was supposed to go."

"I believe you're supposed to refer to me as 'Sir,' Lieutenant-Colonel. And I'm quite sure that to refer to me by my profession, of which I'm very proud, as an insult is a bad idea on your part," This kind of bravado was risky, but Morgan was in no mood to care. With the killers and victims announced, funerals were now being held across Caphraig. They were the first of many.

* * *

As the names were read out, one by one, Kevin Hetfield tried to contextualise it. The names had been dryly recited and he needed some way to make sense of it. Keeping calm under pressure wasn't something he'd ever really had a problem with, but this was all very disturbing, and there never having been anything of the sort before made it all the more so.

Okay, that wasn't strictly true; the Americans had tried it. The British government hoped to use it as a threat, so heavily publicised it. But that was different. Across the Atlantic, they wanted to bully the youth into submission. The reports revelled in every drop of blood spilt, and the audience even got to vote on the most exciting kills, extra weapons going to the winners. It was the same basic idea as Kevin's current situation, but the execution was very different.

No, this wasn't just a bloodbath. The British organisers were cold, calculating and precise. They knew what they were doing, and were deliberately not giving any clues to their victims, who were now doomed to contribute to the carnage or fall victim to it.

Kevin wasn't a particularly strong guy, though at the same time nor was he notably weak, with a pale, skinny, non-muscular frame. He had a fairly ordinary appearance, his standard short, light brown hair and blue eyes being compensated for by typically being close to the cutting edge of fashion trends. There were few areas in his life in which he stood out at all, actually, though that suited him just fine. He was Mr. Reliable, always dependable, always worth talking to when one chanced upon him.

It meant nobody had cause to be his enemy, which never a bad thing. Still, he didn't feel safe out in the open. Despite several hours of wandering, however, he'd yet to find somewhere safe and secluded, so outside he remained. Caphraig wasn't the most interesting of the Western Isles, that was for sure.

He knew he needed safety soon though, since people seemed to be playing this game. He tried to reconcile the thought with the list of names he had just heard. Why had they died?

_Manuel must have gotten unlucky, dying where he had. Elyse had always been opportunistic, and Peter and the Trio were psychopaths. So nothing surprising about_…he stopped himself. What was the point in it? Kevin could spend any number of hours speculating on the whys and wherefores, and it would all be pointless. He'd never know what happened; even if he found those responsible or the bodies there would be no answers.

No, what was important at the moment was the specific factor that raised a lump in Kevin's throat. He'd known the killers and victims through high school, some since S1. But the only thing that really seemed to matter was that he wasn't on the list – nor were any of his friends. He knew them all, but that didn't mean he was close to them. Shanae Preston, Stefano Valutti and Valerie Wolfe. They were the important ones, and they were still alive.

Kevin tried to shake the thought by imagining the list being of those killed in some accident. That would be a tragedy, and he would grieve and mourn like everyone else. He imagined the report was instead that a crazed lunatic had murdered them all. That thought was even worse, and would have devastated all of Perth.

Then, one final thought – that they had murdered each other. He could barely comprehend how horrific that would be. And yet it was the reality of the situation. And the relief was still there. He was alive, his friends were alive; all else was secondary.

_Where are you, Shanae_? He didn't know how much later than him she'd left, but that was irrelevant. The point was, she wasn't with him. It was a strange relationship, though the similar ground between they and Olly King and Tash Checketts made it seem less so. But Kevin had a lot of faith in Shanae; she was strong-willed, determined, and never backed down. Her inner strength, when combined with his own likeability and reliability, would certainly make for a powerful team no matter how they decided to face the Program. It was what made them work as a couple. As he continued to walk the uneven paths of Caphraig, the prospect of such a scenario lifted his spirits slightly, distracting him from the horrors of Morgan's report.

"Hey there. How's it going, mate?" Kevin suddenly paused. He wasn't as alone as he thought he was! He clearly hadn't been paying as much attention to his surroundings as he thought.

* * *

Minutes after the announcement, students across Caphraig were now mourning their dead friends. People both good and bad had both died and killed. Perhaps those who had caused deaths lamented having done so? It was hard to say. But regardless, chances were good that everyone left alive on Caphraig was either conducting or attending a funeral, save Charlie O'Keefe. Such was his perspective, anyway.

He'd spent the last five hours in one. The events of the classroom had been replayed in his head dozens if not hundreds of times as he strived to rationalise or justify what had happened. Either would do, just as long as some sense could be found in it. But there was none. No, Zoey was murdered by two people, one of whom was insane and the other camped out in a fortress..

The problem was that Charlie was an optimist, who always saw the best in people. That's what didn't make sense in any of this; given they were both good people, how could they act that way? But the words had by now lost all meaning, and he himself the ability to think straight.

Minutes ago, it had all been so simple – they deserved to die, ergo they would die. Fortress or not, he would find a way. The report changed things though, in a way that took the wind out of him as if he'd been assaulted by a kick boxer. The reality of the situation was inescapable, and having spent so harbouring thoughts of glorious vengeance he was in no position or mood to go into denial about what Morgan had just announced.

"It's not so straightforward anymore." Charlie was talking to himself, but felt like he couldn't speak, so needed to know he still could. Nihilistic thoughts didn't become him; if anything, he had too much faith in the world and the people in it. Yet here he was. Sitting in some dilapidated cottage surrounded on all sides by a load of walking corpses.

Putting his hands to his temples, Charlie tried hard to rekindle his emotional response to the situation. They were his friends! They were his friends and they were both dead and dying, killed and killing, and what's more there was nothing he could do about it!

But so were many millions of people throughout the world. Sure, _Britain_ was a pseudo-utopia, but other countries had no such pretensions. If anything, the fact that the Government had been reduced to this "Program" would probably stand to reduce its standing in the international community. The youth rioting already had had some impact, from what he'd heard. Deaths throughout the world…it was impossible to care about them all. So why even care about any, and why were the ones he'd just heard about any different?

_Because I know them and knew them. Because everyone else will soon be going the same way, including myself._ It didn't seem to make a difference. It still meant nothing. What good would feeling anything do anyway? It would dull his awareness, which he needed for when someone eventually found him. Which they would, in time. Charlie knew he couldn't hide forever.

Anger was useless. Even if he _did_ find a way to kill the people who took away Zoey, what good would it do and where would it end? Should he kill Elyse too because of Manuel? And why should his own social circle be favoured over anyone else's? More killing wouldn't bring people back. It only started a never-ending cycle.

Quickly growing bored of pondering the issue, Charlie wandered into the kitchen. Finding the electricity to still be switched on, he decided to make some toast. It was 6.30am – the perfect time for an early breakfast of a morning. Looking discretely outside the window, he could see the sun rising. It was going to be a nice day.

* * *

As Charlie well knew, the first report had particular relevance to the former members of the Drama Club. He wasn't concerning himself with his group had been so quick to kill and die, but others in the group did indeed have that thought at the forefront of their minds. For others such as George Ryan, the announcement was one of those moments that came along every so often in life that really put things into perspective

As he wandered by the eastern edge of the island, George looked out towards the mainland. There lay everything he once knew, everything he needed now, and everything that was denied him. Disorganised and paranoid, yet refreshingly optimistic, he had to wonder with exasperation how he'd ever gotten here.

George was something of a reject by high-societal standards. He was a scruffy boy who came from a close but ill-disciplined family; seemingly this was the exact opposite of many of his peers. He was one of those who by all rights should have abandoned any hope of an academic future long ago. Yet here he was, still in school until he had no choice but to move on. Granted, that had never been the grand plan.

Nah, he was something of a delinquent, skipping school regularly to smoke and drink by the front gate and generally giving a two-fingered salute to authority whenever he got the chance. At least, that was how he used to be. It sounded soppy to him, but meeting a girl changed things.

Anna Charwell was a couple of years older than him, and studying Forensics in nearby Dundee. They'd met by chance about two years ago, and somehow she'd made him realise he could achieve something in life, and more to the point, that he should try and do so. He'd stayed on in school due to that and his birthday falling in November, meaning he wasn't 16 at the start of S5 and thus couldn't leave until Christmas. By the time Christmas came, it was less effort to stay on than to find something else to do, and now he intended joining her in Dundee to study Sport Management.

That was what drove him in life. It was what drove him now. Acting and sport were his two main hobbies, and each was about competing, winning and success. Persistent knee trouble had ended his promising rugby career, but of all things he'd found a talent for pool. Snooker being more popular in the UK, he'd switched quickly to that and was starting to make a name for himself, supported, as always, by Anna.

Anna, who he might never see again. That was what the announcement had caused him to realise. Up until now, he was focused on surviving, on winning. This was a game, after all, and he liked games of all kinds. He was good at them. And some people won games, others lost them.

What George hadn't considered thus far was what exactly he stood to lose if he didn't win – the same person he didn't have at his back, offering advice and encouragement, and generally making sure he got through things. Just as he helped her relax and endure the stress that came with her course, she did the exact opposite for him because it was what he needed.

He really needed it now. He was a charismatic guy, but so was Darren and he was dead. So was Elyse but she'd clearly lost the plot already. His strengths as a person seemed meaningless here and his faults were magnified, in the circumstances. It would almost have been worth the risk to Anna for her to be with George now! They did everything so much better when together. Yet he had never truly realised it until this moment.

Granted, he still found it hard adjusting to a serious relationship when he was known for being one of the more overtly sexual males in the year. But that was no excuse for this, nor for failing to comprehend the realities of his situation. Had he opened his eyes earlier, could he have done anything to help Elyse or Darren, or even Zoey? Morgan had said it, they'd all killed her by saying nothing.

Still, all of these thoughts were of people who would do their own thing in their own way. Finally realising that, it meant he himself had to do things his own way, for his own reasons. So why was he alive? For two reasons – his fledging but extremely promising snooker career, and for Anna. What did he want most in the world? To play in the special invite tournament in two weeks time for which he'd crushed the odds to qualify, and to be in her arms again.

Was that it, just like that? They were his friends, they were dead! Surely he should be lamenting the loss? Perhaps, but it wasn't a very practical thing to do. He was alone now, fair enough, but probably not for long. All George could really think about was not being like them. He had to try to avoid hurting anyone, but put not letting anyone hurt him first. Anna was waiting for him. It wasn't a matter of choice, it was one of necessity – she would see him again. Then he could hold a memorial, for everyone at once.

* * *

When some people died, they were mourned. Statistically, most people in places like Britain, where the taboo of death had somehow withstood even the years in which the gratuitous offence-causing was at its worst. But still, such clichéd reverence affected some more than others. Among the current residents of Caphraig, this meant Zoey Volta and Manuel Noles, known as they were for being saccharine and non-offensive respectively. But not every student got the affection in death that they would be receiving.

No, certain deaths were cause for celebration. Terrorists, paedophiles, those sort of people. Margaret Thatcher, probably, if the 94 year old ever got around to it. On the island, Jemi Britcher fell squarely into that category. Yes, David Remnant – Rem – knew very well that he and only one other person would be expressing sorrow for her.

Rem had known Jemi and Jenna since he was very young, and through growing up with them found himself inextricably linked to them. They were a trio. The Trio. Friends came and went but their bond stayed eternal. He was a likeable, funny guy, easygoing and approachable. But he eschewed potential popularity for the circle he'd grown up with.

He looked like them and dressed like them, possessing as he did blue and purple hair, a lip piercing and distinctive purple and black blazer/jeans combination he wore just now. He did everything with them, whether it was hanging at the school gates during extended two hour lunch breaks with a cigarette and a beer, going round to Jemi's for a film and gaming night, or popping a cheeky pill at Jenna's while listening to industrial music. And now it was all over.

The moments flashed as instants before Rem's eyes as he heard the news. It was said that that happened to everyone right before they died; Jemi meant enough to him that he saw her life right afterwards.

Conscious thought escaped him. He spun around, delirious and nauseated. The only time he'd ever felt like this before was the second time he'd tried speed; he took too much and overdosed slightly. The comedown had faded from that though; this was forever…this was…he didn't even know what it was.

_So messed up _

_I want you here _

_In my room _

_I want you here _

_Now we're gonna be _

_Face-to-face _

_And I'll lay right down _

_In my favourite place_

Rem didn't know where the music was coming from and didn't care as he stumbled about. His eyes weren't working right, but he became aware of a living creature nearby him. He grabbed the nearest object, which happened to be a fifteen inch black rubber dildo from his bag, proceeding to batter the creature. Again. Again. The swirling morass of images and sounds in his head was punctuated by what seemed to be yelps from the creature.

He hit it harder. Yes, this was what he needed, what Jemi deserved. A blood sacrifice. How ironic that it should be paid with a giant penis, when the girl so often derided as a slut was actually a virgin. The irony wouldn't have been lost on her. Rem encircled the target, so as to strike from different angles. The crimson regret of the fool in his way bled the ground, followed after ten minutes or so by small white chunks.

The creature stopped resisting, or indeed moving at all, its skull now in pieces and barely an inch of its body devoid of bloodstains. Without a second's hesistation Rem gathered himself and his belongings together. He felt satiated, but knew the feeling would only be brief. It was not done; it was only beginning.

Rem closed in on himself as he stood, trying to hold the memory of Jemi as close to him as he could as he thought on his target. He didn't know which emotion controlled him at that moment – sorrow or anger. "This isn't over, Peter. I will look for you. I _will _find you. And I will _kill_ you."

As he wandered off, attempting to regain his bearings, he didn't give a second thought to the ruined body of Kevin Hetfield behind him. Someone else could hold his funeral; whoever's problem that was, it certainly wasn't Rem's.


	12. Hour 8: Betrayers of Foes

**Hour 8: Betrayers of Foes  
**

Where were your friends when you needed them? Were they even alive, and if they were, were they still sane? They were the questions that everyone was asking, but to Mark Johnson they seemed particularly relevant, as his friends were not among the stronger, saner or more popular students in the year. That raised immediate issues of trust, since even by Anti-Clique standards Mark was notoriously insecure. He would never admit it, but he feared even they might betray him; they certainly weren't above betraying their enemies, anyway. Still, he was on their side and they were on his, so they were probably no threat to him.

He couldn't say that about anyone else though. He'd taken refuge in a small cottage in the residential area somewhere north and east of the school, so as to try and avoid people. Much as that sounded like a good idea anyway, narrowly avoiding an unwanted encounter with the machinegun-toting Layne Diallo just proved it, and he wasn't the only one he'd seen prowling about. What everyone else was thinking wasn't clear, but that didn't matter. Mark needed to avoid them all until he came up with some sort of plan.

He was on the religious divide of the Anti-Clique rather than the political, but simply by associating with that group he knew he was expected to eventually take the fight to the Government. If the others were alright, it was probably what they were doing. Scott and Adam? They were nuts, but if they could focus for even a little while, they'd do nothing else. Kenji…probably the same. He was less extreme than Scott, but had issues with wilfully not challenging injustice. And Kim? Well, then there was Kim.

The girl he cared about more than any other in the world. The girl who'd convinced him he was attractive and that people genuinely liked him for who he was. The girl with whom he could share his deep and devout religious faith. The girl who was struggling to keep her balance as she stumbled past the house and had now just fallen over. _Wait, what? Kim!_

Running outside, Mark immediately helped her up and inside the cottage, barricading the door with a chair from the kitchen and getting her some water. He didn't know whether to laugh at having found her or cry because she was drunk already. He hugged her tightly.

"Kim, are you alright? Drink this, please," he said, trying to sound calmer than he was. He was used to seeing her in far worse states than this, but given the circumstances how much of a state she was actually in wasn't really relevant.

"I'm not drunk, I'm not drunk. Really, I'm drunk not!" She might have been more easily believed if she wasn't so obviously woozy. Mark just smiled.

"By your standards this is only a bad sugar high, so I believe you, don't worry." Mark smiled mischievously. He could never be angry at Kim. She was ill, so what? Wasn't like she was unique in the world. In any case, pretending to look offended at that last remark she forced herself to sit up. Her breathing was slightly irregular and her pupils wider than normal, but overall she didn't seem too bad. Mark tried to hold in a huge sigh of relief.

"Try and hide it all you want, I know what you're thinking."

"Yeah, figured. You're almost as bad as Jenna like that. You know, I still think you two should team up and form some sort of psychic hotline – could make a fortune!"

"Don't…don't mention that name to me. Whore. And I'm not psychic, I just understand people. Kinda helps for people in our position. Some things the world wants to know but you just can't let it…" she said wistfully, looking up to the ceiling.

"You know you're sounding a lot more coherent than you should be, given…y'know?" He cast her a quizzical look, met with a glare.

"Do the words 'been drinking, not drunk' mean anything to you? I thought we'd met once or twice?" As if to prove she was alright, she stood up, though only managed a few steps before falling again. Catching a table and steadying herself, she beamed with barely-justified smugness to her friend. She was fine, she didn't need his help!

Mark held his hands up, knowing this wasn't a battle he was going to win. Such was the difficulty in controlling Kim. She'd become so good at hiding her alcoholism and drug abuse over the years that it was by now frequently almost impossible to tell when she was on something and when she wasn't. He didn't even know if she knew the difference herself. Many had been the time when she'd gotten into difficulty because she seemed sober and wasn't, or been mollycoddled by appearing high when only on water and sweets. This was the way she was though, and all Mark could do was _try_ and help her.

"Mark…what do you think's going through Peter's head right now? I-I know you don't like him; I think you're a misguided idiot for it, but I accept it. But I need to know what you think he's thinking." The smile on Kim's face had been all too brief; more often than any other look she had of late was one of anguished despair, and it once again adorned her face as she begged Mark for answers with her eyes. Answers she didn't know she wanted, but needed nonetheless.

"Peter is a servant of God. So are we." Starting by stating the obvious wasn't a bad idea. "But then we don't define ourselves just by that. He does, so it's my first thought about him now." Mark knew that getting the balance right between honesty and tact was key here. Kim was right; he loathed and despised Peter, and saw him as a bad influence on her. He'd argued with her about that before though, and it never ended well.

"'Thou shalt not kill.' Can't get around that; if you could I'd have been happy to see Jemi on the list – she wasn't just a bully, she was a coward, always hiding behind Jenna, letting her take responsibility."

"Can't argue with you there!" He expected Kim to be impressed with him saying that about a friend she disliked intensely.

"Look…you're upset about her? I'm okay with it. Well, I'm not, but I guess I have to be."

"I'm upset about anyone dying. We all know each other, we're not all good people, but none of us deserve to die. No mortal has the right to decide that. But maybe Peter isn't listening to that. He's said for years their existing is itself defying God, that they're 'agents of Satan on Earth'. Honestly? I think he's taking matters into his own hands. And you're right about Jemi either way."

The last remark did nothing to amuse Kim. It was the answer she'd come to herself, but hoped Mark would not repeat, though she'd rather he not lie instead. Mark was right; Peter's interpretation of God's will differed from her own and Mark's. Even to Kim he seemed to sometimes lose sight of the connection between God and his creation. Was this one of those times? In this place, in these circumstances, what was he going to do?

Turning away from Mark, she put her hands together to pray. Mark easily saw, however, one arm reach into her bag for a beer. He quickly but routinely intervened, and thus followed the kind of scuffle he'd had so many times before with her. This time, though, he had no choice but to allow her some alcohol and another pill. It was the only way she could cope and right now he had to accept that.

"Kim, please, let me satiate your other addiction for a while. Let's pray, for us, for our friends, and for Peter, and then we can lose ourselves in the Bible for a while. There's no one else here and we're not in a danger zone, so we've got time."

As Kim held Mark close, he knew he no longer needed to think of a game plan. God had told him what to do – protect Kim, at all costs, from everyone and everything. Thanking him for that, he quietly added to his prayer a wish that he need not protect her from Peter. Even if he were there he'd have been no use to her anyway. Mark was the only one she could rely on – and that was exactly the way he wanted it anyway.

* * *

Ian Doherty was lonely and miserable. It was stating the obvious, but as he saw it, since nobody ever listened when he said it, he could do so continually until something changed. Eventually, people would be forced to pay attention to him; even if it was only to tell him to be quiet, at least they acknowledged his existence in doing so. More than a lot of people were willing to do.

For now though there was nobody around to have that conversation with. He'd wandered west after leaving the school, and had found his way into a forest on that side of Caphraig. It was his sort of place really, secluded and quiet. Of course, he'd rather have been in a bustling party atmosphere, but given that that was seldom an option, the peace and quiet of nature made for good hideouts for reading. Perth was surrounded by some picturesque countryside which offered several such places.

That said, this wasn't really the time for reading. No, Ian wanted to be making the stories about which others would write. That was something he'd always been keen on – being the hero! Ian wanted people to hear and talk and write about his magnificent, all-conquering adventures, about how this weak and puny little boy became a man through triumphing against all odds and enemies; he had many, but in this story none stood a chance when faced with his indomitable might.

Those enemies…they existed in all areas of his life. It wasn't just his own year who despised him either, or even just the students. He'd had a particularly bad relationship with the Depute Rector, Valeria "Hitler" Hall. She was a ruthless sadist who considered staff and students merely pawns in some plan she seemed to be concocting, and seemed to have some sort of personal vendetta against his weakness of character. He didn't know what her problem was, he couldn't help being this way! Still, she'd apparently emigrated to North Carolina when Ian was in S3, which made him happy.

But people like her hated everyone. The ones he really had issues with were those who seemed to dedicate themselves to targeting him. Some folk in the lower years were cool, like John Legg, who he hung out with every now and then, but most were more like Leighton Foe – horrible bullies who'd beat him up then set it up as though it happened the other way around. He hated them so much, and loved the thought of revenge against them.

Revenge…his eyes lit up when he realised that both it and his dream of being the hero were quite possible, thanks to the machine gun in his hands. Yes - four people were already dead, but he hadn't heard much gunfire yet, so at least some of the others probably didn't have as good a weapon as him. That gave him a clear advantage.

It was an advantage he was determined to capitalise on. He'd tried and failed to kill people already, but next time he would not be…okay, that was false, he clearly would be afraid, likely forever. But next time it wouldn't stop him, that was the thing. He was alone in the trees for now, which meant he could practice sneaking around.

He spent several minutes doing so, crouching and jumping out among the fauna and around the trees. He felt like James Bond or Alex Rider, and he liked it. There was one issue though – he needed to prove that he'd at last shaken his inability to use the gun he coveted so dearly. A person would have been useful for that, though even Ian was smart enough to know that if he failed again, he'd be dead. So on balance, it was better that he were alone.

Only he wasn't, was he? A squirrel lurked on a nearby tree. He crept up to it, being sure to remain unseen before it ran off. This was a good tactic, one he would do well to employ against his next human foe. _Easy does it, just a little further!_ His heart was racing, which he tried to control. _It's him or you, don't hold back or it's only you!_

Almost closing his eyes so as to leave himself just able to see the target, he squeezed the trigger on his gun as hard as he could, with both hands. Bullets flew at the tree as the creature squeaked its last squeak. Shaking, Ian held the gun close as he nervously approached the body. He prodded it with the gun barrel to make sure that it was dead. The blood and guts covering the bark seemed to confirm that though.

Ian forced his face to show an emotionless stare as he turned away. The pathetic animal had stood no chance against him. Nor would anyone else who dared stand in his way. He'd conquered his fear, proving himself at last able to use his Uzi! Soon, all Caphraig and eventually all Scotland would know and fear the name "Ian Doherty." _Now I am become Death, the destroyer of worlds._

Continuing to prowl through the forest, still imagining himself wearing a tuxedo and carrying a martini in his free hand, Ian suddenly felt a lot more confident about his chances in the Program. For as long as he still possessed the gun, he would live. The greatest story ever was about to be written – and he was its star.

* * *

"I'm, I'm, dying again! I'm going under!"

_No Adam. Don't you die on me, you haven't made your peace!_

He was right and he knew it. The time would come when he was allowed to give in, but this was not it. He'd been following the red dot on his GPS tracker for the better part of two hours, though he was scarcely aware of the passage of time. Still it eluded him, though he was certainly getting closer.

As Adam paused to take stock of his surroundings, he realised he was on one side of a small hill – and that given the dot was now dead centre on the device, whoever he was chasing was on the other side. His breathing was fast paced, almost panicked. Was he really about to come face to face with destiny? Care. He had to take care. One wrong move could be fatal, as there were no second chances in this game.

Dropping to the floor, Adam crawled to the top of the hill and looked over, to see who it was he'd been chasing. It was not who he expected. A girl, clad in black and covered in blood, crying. "Jenna!" he said to himself, almost inaudibly.

_You have a mission to fulfil. If you would cross paths with her, think hard about how to do so, and do not take unnecessary risks that would jeopardise your true goals. She does not appear to know you're here; it is not too late to turn back._

"I have nowhere to return to, and barely the time or capacity to think anyway." Adam didn't know what he was doing, but thought it best to crawl back down the hill, several dozen metres, so as not to give any indication of having sneaked up on the nearby girl.

As he did so, an unknowing Jenna Widdowson lay awkwardly on the other side of the knoll. She wasn't physically injured as a result of the two attempts on her life, but though she'd have thought it impossible just a few short hours ago, she was traumatised. Her best friend had died in agony in her arms, taking a couple of minutes to do so, and straight after that she'd had to contend with an axe-wielding maniac while escaping Jemi's killer.

Darren Cooper's body sat just a few metres from her. Jenna wanted to get away from it, but her legs felt glued to the ground. So she settled for staring at the mutilated corpse, using it to feed her hatred. He deserved what he'd given her. The only pity she felt for him was that he'd died so quickly as she hacked him apart.

Jenna's legs weren't working properly, but she soon realised her reflexes hadn't dulled a bit as she became aware of a boy charging over the knoll. Before she even realised it, she was on her feet with her katana in her hands ready to strike. Of all the people to chance upon her, it was Adam Lewis!

He was looking worse for wear compared with when she last saw him. He still resembled a slightly taller Harry Potter without the scar and, since S5 thanks to her own venom, the glasses, but he now cut a dishevelled figure. Where had he come from? She could have sworn he wasn't there a moment ago.

Adam didn't even seem to realise Jenna was there, as he almost ran straight into her, being stopped by the sight of her sword. He looked up at it, cowering beneath it as she imposed her physical presence on him, her tears gone as she faced her adversary. Jenna wasn't muscular, but she was known to be strong.

She was ready to strike. Jemi would be avenged, and all who got in her way would contribute, until finally Peter Lucianus himself felt the kiss of her blade. But something was wrong. Adam was lying on the floor, but he had not been cleft in twain as he should have been. He was at Jenna's feet, crying, shaking his head and generally panicking.

"No no no this isn't right it isn't the way it isn't how it was supposed to be! The red dot, it was supposed to guide me into the light, to guide me to destiny! Poor Tom's a-cold, Poor Tom's a-cold! Help me brothers! No, Matthew and Peter are over the hills and far away. Do they await me by the hollow tree?"

Even by his standards this made no sense. Adam was more frenetic than he had been in the classroom. _I shouldn't be questioning it, I should be ending it now. His pain and my own. Just another death, no different to any other. He's asking for it anyway._ She continued to stand there, and he continued to witter.

"It is the end of all hope, the end of all innocence and everything burns!"

Jenna couldn't believe what she was about to do. She should have been grieving for Jemi and looking for Peter, so why was she wasting her time with this lunatic boy? She didn't know, yet felt she had to know what was wrong. He wasn't subtle and she could read his every move, yet this escaped her. Defeat not being an option for her, perhaps that's what it was.

"Adam. ADAM! It's me, Jenna. What's wrong? Tell me now." His head jerked up, as if he hadn't even known she was there. If it were possible, he was now even more bewildered than before, looking around himself fearfully.

"You! You are not she? _She_ was supposed to be the red dot, in her grace she should stand before me but she doesn't so now what happens? I must follow my destined path but no one will tell me what it is. Might the cake be a lie? I am a murderer, I have done evil deeds but so have we all the question is to what degree are each of us heinous? There sits a body, murder, perhaps, if self defence not so though you will murder yet as everyone knows. Evil begets evil, always has always will!" Adam acknowledged but did not engage Jenna, lost in his own tortured mind. Temporarily distracted from her own concerns, Jenna pursued. Keeping one hand tightly on the sword, she took his chin with the other, forcing him to look at her. The look with which she penetrated his eyes was as sharp as the blade.

"Adam, I might be able to help you, but only if you tell me what the matter is. You are my…_oh I can't believe I'm saying this_…you are my friend. I like you okay, and you like me. We hate each other very much, but deep down a part of me loves you, and I think you feel the same way. Fuck the denial and the games we play, you know it's true. I've lost one friend already, don't lose yourself to the madness you bastard!" Returning her look, though still giving no clues as to his thoughts, he considered for a moment, before dropping his head and sighing, seemingly realising he had no choice.

"It's… it's Holly. Holly Holly Holly where is she she should be here she isn't! I-I-I-I-I...I don't even know what to say or how, or why you should listen. I am Judas, Betrayer of Friends and I know that surrendering to death will make my passage quicker. But I love her, I think I always have though I don't understand it it's just a word I think I felt one day oh God where is it I can't have lost it oh God WHERE ARE YOU?" Realising he'd shouted seemed to scare Adam even more, as he tried to slow his rapid fire breathing as Jenna looked on, saddened.

So that's what it was. Accidentally causing Zoey to be killed had driven him insane, to think of himself as Judas, and now he'd become obsessed with finding Holly. Everyone knew how he felt about her, which he himself seemed to realise, yet he told her as though it were a secret. He was a pitiable, pathetic creature. Jenna didn't know what she was going to do now, but she knew she didn't have it in her to kill Adam. She bent down to help him up off the ground. As she did so, she had no way of seeing a fist flying towards her face.

Knocked backwards, unhurt but surprised, Jenna no longer needed to help Adam up; he'd quickly scrambled to his feet and was sending his foot quickly between her legs. She fell to the floor in agony, and experienced more straight away as he stamped hard on her wrist – forcing her to let go of the katana, which he quickly took for himself. Jenna could only stare up in disbelief as he circled her predatorily, awaiting a counterattack that never came.

"Adam…what. The fuck? What is this, I don't even..." She didn't know what to say or to do, and suddenly felt very lightheaded.

"I-I'm sorry Jenna. But this is how it has to be. I pursued you thinking you were Holly, but when I saw what you had in your hand I realised I'd found the only thing more important – a blade, the kiss of which will seal a legacy! This is the Blade of the Anti-Clique! Can you see?"

Adam could at last smile again, his improvised plan having worked like a charm. Jenna was a dangerous adversary under any circumstances, but for her, upset had always turned quickly to anger, and he knew exploiting her emotional turbulence was the only way he could defeat her.

"Just so you know, you were right. About everything. As usual you have all the answers! You even got to help me, in the best way you could, by giving me your sword. A most generous gift, and one I will honour when the time comes. I'll return it to you of course, when I'm done with it." What disturbed Jenna most about it all was that he believed his own gibberish; he was so delusional that he wasn't even boasting.

"If we ever see each other again, I'll kill you. Slowly, painfully, I'll tear each individual cell from your body with my bare fucking hands you backstabbing traitorous arse licking _cunt_!" Tears once again streamed down Jenna's face as several blood vessels in her face came close to bursting.

"I'd be happy to give you the chance to do so, it's what I deserve. It's what Judas deserved, and I am he, remember? But I fear you and I will never meet again. I will be burning in Hell long before you ever get there. My sins cannot be redeemed, nor should they be."

"Don't try and martyr yourself! If you were on fire you wouldn't be worth pissing on." His lament rang hollow with Jenna, but he continued to look on her with apologetic pity. Then, he changed his tone.

"Before I go to my death, you need to know that you'll come back from this. You're a stronger person than I or anyone, and where most in your position would die on the spot you will return better stronger faster than before you must accept that! I cannot survive I will not survive but you, you're the one you're the best and you know it. Never forget it. Let no one else forget it. They will die and you will live. Maybe that's your legacy, to everyone?" Jenna didn't respond. She'd given up completely.

"As the walls fall by my side, faces fly up in the air. It's the people that I left behind, but I'M STILL STANDING! All that I had I gave away; I don't wanna drown under a wave - I wanna survive another day!"

With that, and continuing to babble meaninglessly, Adam gave Jenna one last regretful look before running off. Jenna neither knew nor cared where he'd gone. All she knew was that other than Rem he was her only chance of seeing a friendly face, and he'd betrayed her as badly as Peter. Now in physical as well as psychological pain, and completely unarmed, she felt herself losing consciousness. Jenna could sleep at last. She didn't know that she wanted to ever wake up.


	13. Hour 9: The Road Less Travelled

**Hour 9: The Road Less Travelled**

"So, where am I?"

That was the question facing Layne Diallo. He was an intelligent sort of guy, but geography had never been his strong suit and that was now haunting him. Modern technology made it unnecessary to be particularly strong in that area, but now his only guide was a map and it wasn't much help. It wasn't detailed enough, though Layne might have said that about any level of detail. He wasn't the most easily pleased of people.

There was another question lingering in his mind, though: where in the world was his twin brother, Richard? What he had to do was clear – answer those questions and find Richard who, disorganised as he was, probably needed a careful person like himself around. He might not realise it, but it was nonetheless true.

The two Somalians were strange in that they, while having the closeness that most twins possessed, were outwardly complete opposites in life. Richard was an easy-going joker, happy to spend his days having fun, getting high, and generally going through life at a relaxed pace on his own terms. Layne was the more sensible of the two, at least to himself. He was more concerned with the practicalities of life, like good health and getting things done on time. Words like "neurotic" and "health freak" had been thrown his way, but those who did were just making petty excuses for their own poor attitude – and that included Richard himself, on occasion.

It wasn't like he didn't know how to have fun though. Like Richard, Layne enjoyed athletic activity, such as time spent at the gym and football (which also provided essential exercise of course), sleeping (nine hours a day, no less!) and generally having a good time with his friends. Both brothers were also known for their fierce loyalty to each other and their friends, though it was taken differently with each of them. With Richard, it was seen as surprising because of how relaxed he was; with Layne, it was almost overbearing because of how neurotic he supposedly was. You just couldn't win with some people though, so Layne had given up trying to please them all. _Ya just have ta do what ya know is right, the rest'll all fall inta place. Always has been true, always will be._

Naturally, Layne was currently terrified about what might be happening to Richard. Richard was older by a matter of minutes, but Layne tended to act like he was a couple of years older. Anyone else might have been bothered, but aside from his general nature, Richard knew that Layne was genuine and only ever meant well. He was glad to have a twin like him, and knew that Richard felt the same way.

Richard was certainly capable of handling himself, being much stronger than he looked, and fear was never something that affected him badly, but that sometimes meant he didn't know how bad things were. That was where Layne's planning and control came into play. It complemented his brother nicely. But separated like this…it wasn't good, to say the least.

Layne had always been a worker. His parents were that way, so it was clearly an inherited trait. He didn't know them very well, having been put up for adoption aged two so he and Richard could have a better life in a more stable country. He made sure to keep in contact with them through letters though, where possible. That wasn't always easy, but it was more than many adopted children got, especially from his country.

As someone who enjoyed hard work, he also enjoyed having control over a situation. That was what was getting to him about his current circumstances – absolutely everything had been taken out of his control, which he was neither used to nor particularly able to handle very well. He didn't know where anyone was or what they were doing.

So, he'd found a landmark and begun studying it in earnest, trying to make sense of his location. Though he didn't like it much, he was currently standing against the west wall of the Crofters' Arms, which was the pub near the middle of Caphraig. Looking at the map, it seemed that many of the demarcated zones didn't actually have much, if any, land in them.

Caphraig was shaped roughly like an oval, positioned in the sea at a diagonal angle from north-east towards the mainland to south-west towards the other Western Isles. In fact, the north-west corner of the map had a block of twelve zones – A-D 7-10 – that had no land in them at all. In the south east it was similar, with the eight zones G-J 1-2 being entirely water. The edges of the island were mostly rounded, though there zones I3 and I4 constituted a land mass jutting out into the sea around which the harbour had been constructed. On the other side of the map, G10 and H10 were similar, with a fort of some kind being in the area. The western coast, which travelled more or less straight north from A2 to B6, had numerous small inlets as well, as did the southern coast B1 to F2, but other than that, it was a fairly rounded place.

Interesting landmarks were few and far between, which was unsurprising for a fairly self sufficient fishing and farming community. Residences were scattered across the island, though there appeared to be a block of them around the area of H6. There was a lighthouse on the southern tip of the island, to the meagre extent that Caphraig had a southern tip, in D1, and a monastery around C5 near a woodland area. Other than that there were a couple of unspecified buildings around the island, and then there was the harbour and restaurant area in the south-east.

Layne himself was currently in E5. That meant he wasn't very far from the danger zone that had only minutes ago become live, in G5. Being such a central location as that, he would have to be careful not to accidentally walk into it. On realising this, he instinctively looked to where the other danger zones were. Fortunately, they were largely meaningless. B1 had only a tiny mass of what was probably rocks just west of the lighthouse, that being where the land started to curve up north-west towards an inlet in the western part of B2. J9 was effectively the same on the opposite corner of the map, being only a small part of the coast at the northern tip of the eastern face of the island, which descended straight south between J8 and J5. There looked to be barely enough room in either danger zone to stand to hurl one's self from the cliff face.

Knowing all this, provided he trod lightly if he went east, there ought to be no problems with the terrain for now. There would be others in the future, however, so he couldn't let his guard down.

Satisfied that his first question was at last answered, in that he had some conception of where _he_ currently was, Layne now had to consider the second. Where would Richard go? He was hoping that "twin telepathy" would somehow answer the question for him, but he was too concerned right now to concentrate enough for that.

He spent considerable time thinking logically about the matter, going through every aspect of Richard's personality in his head in an effort to discern an answer. It did not come. Richard was too unpredictable for that, even for his own brother. He would be looking for Layne, and he wouldn't be interested in participating, but beyond that he'd likely just improvise, doing whatever presented itself as possible at the time. It was quite frustrating for Layne, truth be told.

And yet, he couldn't help but realise he was acting little differently. His own grandiose plan currently amounted to "find Richard, see what happens." He wasn't a fighter. He'd been given a Kalashnikov, but Layne really wasn't the type to use it. If doing so meant protecting Richard, however, then he'd have to force himself when the moment came. Until he found his brother though, and with no clues as to where he might be, Layne had nothing to do but look. _Walk softly, carry a big gun. Ain't that what they say? Guess I'll do just that…_

* * *

Asexuality was more common than people often realised, with studies having shown that around 2-3% of people identified as such. Still, it was rare enough that, despite causing offence being a criminal matter these days, one could very easily be considered a freak for it.

That sort of attitude had never bothered Natalie Shimizu, despite the fact that she was a bit of an extreme case. She was also completely aromantic, having never in her life known any kind of sexual desire or attraction. Actually, even that was understating her nature; for the past ten years she'd been almost complete asocial.

Thinking on it, she realised how unnatural it was to think of herself by her real name anymore; so pervasive was her nickname of Silent Shimizu that she herself used the term as often as anyone else. No, she wasn't a talker, and neither wanted nor needed anyone else's company or help in life.

Orphaned at a young age in a car crash, Silent had gained that nickname while being raised by her aunt and uncle. She'd always been quite quiet, but with her parents gone she lost any remaining desire to talk to people. Her uncle had seen this and, not wanting to force her to change, instead taught her self-reliance in all areas of life. She wouldn't need people in her life very often, though if that was to be her choice, then she would have to learn to live independently. He'd half expected her to completely reverse her position once it came to carrying out tasks normally done by older teenagers or adults, like cooking and cleaning, but instead she embraced the responsibility.

Her aunt and uncle came across as apparent throwbacks to medieval Japan, though how much of that was genuine and how much was just to amuse themselves by winding up the neighbours was unclear. That they believed a woman could and should be independent was far beyond the social attitudes in even modern Japan however, so they were hardly relics of the era. Still, ancient practices were very important to them and, certain social customs excepted, they were staunch traditionalists.

The key message they wanted to impart to her was that the world was a transient place – people and colleagues, even family, in time, would come and go. The only constant was one's self, and that meant that it was critical in life to be a person around whom you wanted to spend time. Silent had taken that to heart, and was determined to enjoy life as much as possible, and on her own terms. As a reminder of life's transience, she kept with her always a pressed and laminated cherry blossom petal, taken each year from the tree her uncle had planted in his garden in memory of his late brother and sister-in-law.

So far in life she'd had a lot of fun; despite all the misconceptions, despite all the visits from social workers acting on the concerns of neighbours that the days she spent alone were evidence of neglect, she had more inner peace than most of her peers, and was delightfully happy. Sure, she deliberately came across as thorny and irritable to her peers, but she'd found that that was about the only way she could get them to leave her alone in her desired peace.

But just minutes earlier, that grand strategy, which she expected to take her through life, had collapsed like a house of cards. Sitting…somewhere on Caphraig, resting against a rock so she could contemplate in relative protection, she couldn't help but go over in her head what had just happened.

The first few hours of the Program had been a bit of a confusing blur in honesty. Silent was astute and highly intelligent, but had struggled to get her head around what was going on. It was the words of her teacher that somehow reached her, when he said that everyone was on their own unless they could find temporary allies. It didn't make any sense why that bothered her. After all, she didn't need friends, and her inner strength was almost unmatched in the year.

But how could she use that here? That was the problem. The entire Program was Hobson's choice – you didn't have to kill people, but that was only if you didn't mind dying. There were no two ways about this. Silent had so much of her life still to live, and, having experienced it so young, was horrified by the prospect of seeing or causing death. So neither of her "choices" were viable. That meant she'd needed a third option, which required that she do what she utterly despised doing by trying to socialise.

It wasn't like she had anything against people; they could live their own lives, do what they wanted and she wasn't so petty as to be offended by their existence. But she did expect them to respect her right to have them play no part in her own life wherever possible. Desperate times called for desperate measures, though, and she had to try talking to someone to work out a solution that didn't involve a mass-slaughter.

The problem was, she didn't really know how to go about doing that. As she so seldom interacted with people, acquiring exemptions from things like Physical Education thanks to dubious medical assertions made by her uncle, she didn't know how it was done.

The first person she'd come across since the announcement had been Elyse Backman, who was cycling by for some reason. Where she got the bike from she had no idea, but seeing Silent caused her to lose balance and fall off. She looked nervous and panicky as she scrambled quickly to her feet.

While Silent didn't know what kind of person she was looking for, Elyse certainly wasn't it. She'd started killing straight away – who was to say she wouldn't attack again? It had been too late to run away though; with a bike, Elyse could have pursued easily. All Silent could do was hope she'd hear her out. The more she thought about it in hindsight, the stupider that seemed…Elyse had been set in her ways, and there was no reasoning with a person like that. Still, by that point it was too late.

"Elyse, hi. You-you don't need to f-fear me, I come in peace!" Her hands were in the air and her bag on the floor, but she'd still felt uncomfortable as she exchanged awkward stares.

"What do you want? You're weird. Never say a word, never talk to anyone or socialise at all. Can't trust you. Can't trust anyone out here."

"Yeah, I get that I'm a freak. Stuck this way, I guess. What I want though…to live. And not kill people. Do you…have any ideas how we could get out of here? I think we all need to work together." She knew what she wanted to say, she just didn't know how. It would have been so much easier if she could just hand Elyse a letter or something.

"Get out of here? Yeah, I know how to do that. Mr. Morgan told us – we kill everyone. One survivor, that's it. Not two, not ten, not forty. You got that?"

"Why does it have to be that way, though?"

"What does it matter why? Fuck sake, Silent, wake up! All this? It's a competition, that's what it is. A game, all of us against each other, just like any other. That's what life is you know, people fighting each other, trying to come out on top." Silent remembered looking at Elyse in that moment and seeing in her eyes that she truly believed that. It was nonsense; people _chose_ to be like that, but they didn't have to. Plenty of people lived mutually self-supporting lives and got on just fine, without conflict.

"You're wrong. The stage lights have blinded you to the higher truths. We can all get along, you just need to try!"

"It's too late for that, Silent. I've thought about it, really. Didn't think I could do it, I won't ever again when this is over. But they're all trying to same thing to me, so it's just a choice I have to make – me or them. It's sad but true." She looked like she meant that, but that didn't mean she was making the moral choice. She'd also just blatantly lied.

"When did you think about it? As you stared at Manuel's body when you murdered him? You didn't wait five minutes!" She hadn't meant to sound quite so accusative there, and it was a mistake to do so. Elyse's eyes lit up as she "realised" what was going on. Seeing this, Silent tried to back up, but as predicted it had been too late.

"So that's your angle, huh? Think you can entrap me like that? Draw me in close with claims of pacifism and friendship so you can kill me, you passive-aggressive freak? You criticise me for fighting when you do all those martial arts, you're such a hypocrite! Fuck you, I'm gonna win, you're gonna die!"

With that, Elyse had reached into her bag and drawn the weapon used to kill Manuel – a spiked ball and chain. It was a powerful but unwieldy weapon that looked to be too big for the girl. Elyse was stronger than she looked though, and knew how to control her weight as she charged towards Silent.

Within moments, Elyse had powered her weapon towards Silent, though the distance between them and the open ground meant that the strike was easily dodged as Silent threw herself to the floor, towards her own bag. She'd had to move quickly, as Elyse deftly spun around to strike again. She was breathing frantically, clearly scared, but moving with intelligence that compensated for the bulk of her weapon.

Silent hadn't expected this. In retrospect she perhaps should have done, considering even what she'd actually said to her, but perhaps she had too much faith in the people she wanted nothing to do with. Or perhaps she just didn't understand them well enough to make accurate judgements. The latter seemed more likely.

Forced into the fight, she'd had to move quickly to draw her shuriken throwing stars from her bag before being forced to use it as a shield, that being her only defence. She had a box of six hira-shuriken, and was able to retrieve them as the second attack from the spiked ball and chain swept just inches from her face.

Throwing her bag at Elyse to wrong-foot her, Silent had quickly risen to her feet and ran away from her opponent. Silent's weapon had the superior range, and as a person she had more focus. She'd had no desire to do murder, but words clearly weren't going to be enough against Elyse, who found her attempts to close the increasing distance thwarted by two shuriken, one going towards her left thigh and the other her right arm.

The latter merely scraped her forearm, but the former penetrated her leg, causing Elyse to lose balance and fall forward, hurriedly dropping her weapon to stop herself breaking her leg with it. She'd painfully pulled out the blade in her leg, but before she could consider a further attack was forced to face up to Silent standing right over her, two more shuriken in her hands and the other two in her belt.

For several seconds the pair had remained there in silence before Elyse scrambled backwards to her feet, quickly but defensively. She'd known better than to try continuing the fight. Silent didn't know whether Elyse expected to die there and then, but she did know she had no interest in killing her.

"This…next time! It's not over!" Silent hadn't responded as Elyse turned tail and fled, chanting "Can't lose…wanna live!" over and over again as she did so.

And that was how Silent had found herself where she was, considering what to do next. The kind of things Elyse said to her, about her, were nothing she wasn't used to hearing. The laws against causing offence were meaningless in practice; all she could do was try not to feel it. And normally she never did. There was so much people would never know about her, though that was mostly through her choosing not to tell them and she had to accept the consequences of that, good and bad.

Things like the self defence training her uncle provided going beyond the judo and karate in which she held first and second dan belts respectively and into the realm of knife and blade usage. That meant she had seen and used shuriken before, and knew how to do so effectively, though of course her only prior interest in them had been self defence, coordination and reflex development.

She was no freak; she was a well-adjusted, normal girl, who just happened to live a live as close to free of human contact beyond her aunt, uncle and teachers as possible. But while that had never been a problem before, it certainly was now. Anything she could do to escape the island without killing or being killed by necessity involved other people. And Elyse had demonstrated an attitude towards her that Silent realised was also that of most people in her year. She wasn't an openly hostile person, but she could never be "liked" as such.

She had to make a choice: given that both were not possible, which did she want more – to avoid killing or to avoid dying? That was a question to which she knew the answer, even if she didn't like it very much. Collecting the two thrown shuriken from the ground, Silent strung them together and attached them to her belt. There was no point in staying where she was any longer. With a look of sorrow adorning her face, Silent Shimizu picked up her bag and wandered off. She now had some idea of what to do, but truly was as she always had been, always would be, and, for the first time since her parents' death, did not want to be – alone.


	14. Hour 10: Slaying the Dream

**Hour 10: Slaying the Dream**

Holly Morgan was afraid. She'd entered the Program in a state and it had taken several hours for her to finally calm down, but things had hardly improved for her. Not knowing quite what to do or where to go, she'd found herself wandering west of the school. Looking at the map, that area seemed to contain lots of places where she could hide for a while.

Unfortunately, it seemed that several people had had the same idea. She was now near the western coast of the island, circling around the outside of a forested area, the leaves of which glistened white in the early morning sun. She kept a wary eye on the forest, using the trees as cover but not venturing too far in, having recently heard gunfire. Whoever caused it couldn't have been too far away, and was potentially hiding in amongst the trees, while she was completely unarmed.

In fact, if anything, she was worse off than them because unlike the other students who had gotten unlucky in the draw, they probably didn't know it. Holly did. Her "weapon" was a list of what everyone else got, though of course names were missing. Knives, guns, grenades, even a rocket launcher. The atomic bomb had to have been a sick joke, but everything else was presumably real.

Holly just had to hope that her social status would help her out. Aside from being the daughter of a staff member (which was true of others in the school, including in her own year up until the start of S6), she'd cultivated a reputation for being endlessly effervescent, and people liked that. In fact, there were very few people who didn't like her.

Granted, that was a position she'd deliberately put herself in; while she was in no way a scheming backstabber like some of her peers, she knew how to manipulate social situations in her favour when necessary. Holly was one of those people of whom one's first impression was almost always positive and required to be disproved before people had a problem with her. It meant that she could get away with a lot that she might otherwise not be able to, though she wasn't generally interested in exploiting that. Still, it was always nice to have the option.

Whether or not it would do her any good on Caphraig, however, remained to be seen. Holly was too much of a modern woman to adopt the stereotypical "damsel in distress" role, ever, but being a small, physically weak girl with no weapon in a situation like this, she knew it would be hard to avoid it if she got into trouble. Having lots of friends wasn't a lot of help when you didn't know where any of them were, especially when the only people you had seen were fighting each other.

_Wait, who is that? Is it…oh no. I'm really not in the mood right now for…yep, it's him_. Holly thought about bolting into the trees, but the figure charging in her direction had seen her and the last thing she wanted was to be chased through a forest that for all she knew still had a crazed gunman hiding in it. Her relationship with Adam Lewis was friendly but slightly awkward. Aside from being quite weak socially anyway, he was wont to use her as a scapegoat for his political aims.

The pair were the school captains, deputised by Kim Magdalene (who was a close friend to each of them), and Olly King, but in practice Holly and Olly handled all student relations while Adam and Kim did everything that involved annoying staff members. If they, meaning Adam and his best friend Scott Irving really, needed emotional blackmail, then he took to waving Holly and other relatives of faculty members about like a flag. It got results but was slightly demeaning. Then there was his long term, in-no-way-secret crush on her. She wanted to at last tell him it was never going to happen between them, though she didn't have the heart to crush him like that, nor would she take Anna Wilson up on her repeated offers to do it for her. She hoped he wouldn't stick around long for now anyway.

As he ran towards her, knowing that this time he'd picked correctly from two red dots in the area on his GPS, Adam tried to control himself. He'd faked a nervous breakdown in front of Jenna Widdowson, but knew that it was only a matter of time before the real thing came along. Without his friends, particularly Scott and Kim, his psychological weaknesses were going unchecked and that put him in danger. Relief as much as anything else coursed through him. _This is it you are here you are going to do this at last at last no matter what else happens it will be DONE!_ Adam laughed giddily to himself, before realising that he was now stood directly in front of the girl for whom he'd been searching for so long. Longer than the Program had lasted thus far anyway, though he had no idea how much time had passed. Years of terrified postponement and delay were now over.

Holly didn't know what his problem was, but it was clear that he had issues of some kind and that she wanted nothing to do with them. He needed professional help that she was in no position to give. She wanted to become a therapist, but for speech!

"Hi, how are you, erm, how are you doing?" Holly tried to look relaxed, though in reality was trying to gauge a viable escape route. Adam looked preoccupied and didn't seem to notice.

"I've-I've been better, but then we are as turkeys in Bernard Matthews' car so perhaps we'd all say that unless madness has already claimed us or survival seems within our easy grasp." There was something not quite right about him as he waved his sword in front of him. He didn't seem too threatening…yet…but there was something unnerving about him generally right now.

"That your weapon?" she said, gesturing to the sword.

"No no no this was an ill-gotten prize, Judas' silver if truth be told, taken from a grieving Goth who may be seeking its return as we speak. She has promised me my due reward when she gets it back though I fear her not having it is more pressing an issue than my having it. If ever you should meet fear her flee her for Hell hath no fury like Jenna scorned of that I can assure you!

"No my gift from those guiding us into the afterlife was a device that lets me track others doing likewise which has now seen fit to show me to you in your grace, when two targets did appear to which to go and I chose wisely, though whether designed or not I cannot know. My destiny I thought were clearer WHY AM I NOW SO LOST WHEN HERE YOU ARE?" Adam was shouting, but not at Holly. What he was babbling about made little sense, though he seemed to be suggesting he'd attacked Jenna. There was blood on the sword…

"Adam, did you…have you killed her?" She had to know, even as her need and desire to run as far and fast from him as possible increased.

"Killed her trust perhaps though the girl yet lives, though I know not if through choice or necessity…she was right about so much, had I time I could consider it but when forced to choose I had to keep with the course I thought was right, even if perhaps it never was. I am not well, but have always felt as though on a certain path in life, one which is only now partially revealing itself…I think I wish I didn't know any of it so I would not be tormented so.

"Do not fear the blade, it can hurt but me not you – only should you misuse it may it penetrate _your_ flesh. Though lacking the scabbard I must display it always, such is the reason you see it before you now." If Adam was trying to either explain himself or reassure Holly then he was failing. She instinctively looked behind her, startling him.

"Please don't go! I-I mean you no harm, though in my present state you could easily be forgiven for thinking otherwise." He threw the katana to the ground in front of her and put his hands in the air. That was welcome but unexpected. What was he doing?

"I appreciate you trying to tell me you don't want to kill me, but you're saying you were looking for me? Can I ask why?" Another question to which she didn't want the answer, but it was probably the only way to get him away from her – straight to the point, then he could leave.

"Is it now? Yes, the flame awaits you and your descent into it has been delayed long enough. Your path is clear ignore all else. Destiny. Your legacy."

"Are you…still talking to me?"

"Wasn't then, am now. Holly I don't know how to say this so must focus myself enough to just do so. I'm in love with you, have been for years. It's why I've been so awkward around you and your friends, because I've felt this way but been afraid to tell you! God you mean so much to me I'd do anything for you! I…I don't know how much time I have left, my mind is fading I can feel it. I can't make sense of what's real anymore, I thought I could but I killed Zoey and now all I can see is the end, one way or the other…"

"Adam stop! Please!" Holly felt suddenly lightheaded. Was that really what this was all about? He'd gone through all this, for her. It was madness, and she had to keep her wits about her since he clearly wasn't. "I'm worried about you, you need help so please, try to calm down!"

"Truthfully it's not 'worry' I wish you to feel about me at this moment. Long have I dreamed of the moment when I would finally tell you everything, and now I have! I had to, before my inevitable purification."

Holly didn't have much time to consider a response, if indeed any at all. Adam was unpredictable right now, and the more she delayed and considered the more danger she would put herself in. She had no choice but to say the first thing that came into her head. She readied herself to flee.

"Adam, I'm, I'm not completely sure how to say this. I need you to know it's not easy for me, we're friends and I do care and worry about you." She was lying really, they were only friends for a very broad definition of the word, and she was worrying for herself. "But I'm not in love with you. I just don't see you that way I'm afraid, I've got a boyfriend and he's the only person I have those kind of feelings for. I'm really sorry, but I can't help it. Love never can be helped, however it happens."

Holly took a deep breath as she waited for Adam to respond. He looked at her quizzically, then at himself. "I…what? But – no! Can't." He was moving his mouth awkwardly, squirming, as if struggling to speak. "Inevitable…had to be, no other outcome…rejection only. Hope…gone." His mouth opened widely, held for several seconds, closed, and repeated the process several times. He looked at her forlornly.

"Must scream…can't…no mouth! It's over, everything disappearing…I'm falling oh God catch me stop me help me save me! This is real this is real! I'm not faking this time, please DO SOMETHING!" He was bending over backwards, but seemed to think he was falling from a great height. There was nothing Holly could do for him now, and she started to back away. With that, he threw himself up and forward, appearing again in front of her in an instant, sword held aggressively in his hand.

"Hold! Move no further; remain where you are. I cannot have you escape me." Holly's worst fears were coming true; she'd rejected Adam as gently as possible, and now he was going to…she couldn't even think the words. All she knew was that she had no way to resist or stop him.

"Please don't-"

"Your words are not relevant. I have fallen into the chasm and been told it is not time yet. Thus I have risen again! If I cannot be with you, I can still protect you! You have no weapon, but I will serve as one for you, this blade being an extension of my undead fury against any who dare oppose you!" So, his intentions weren't what Holly feared they might be. That was a relief, but this was still insane. _Undead?_

"But what about your friends? They must be looking for you, remember, 'The Legacy of the Anti-Clique'? You have to seal it!" This was probably Holly's last realistic way of getting rid of him, so even though he apparently wasn't letting her speak, it was worth a shot.

"And I will, because I'm holding The Blade of the Anti-Clique – it's in my hands now! That's what the goth could never realise, it's mine by divine right! And what you fail to realise is that you _are_ the Legacy! The others can do what they want, you're the one I want to save."

Holly's face now showed resignation. The boy was hopelessly, insanely dedicated to no one but her, and without a means of defending herself she couldn't risk making him angry by forcing him away. She had to admit, a bodyguard was useful in a situation like this, but the whole thing was so disturbing that she still thought she felt less scared before he turned up. Her thoughts were interrupted however by the sound of what appeared to be movement, on noticing which Holly remembered something Adam had mentioned earlier to her.

"May I ask you something?" _Be polite and non-threatening and he won't object, surely he can't?_

"I live to serve you, provided you accept and do not act to prevent that you are in charge."

"Your…device, thing, you said it can guide you to people? Do you know how it works? Just that, you said you chose to find me when there was someone else you could have gone to. Who was it?" Alarm struck Adam as she said the words. He seemed to understand, glancing at the tracker with horror before standing directly in front of Holly, using his body to cover hers.

"I fear we are not alone. He whom I did not intercept may soon be upon us." He sighed. "You fear me. I am not the best of men, a traitor to all whom I come across. Yet I will protect you with my life, which cannot be guaranteed of whoever else might be present in this area. Pray that I am the greater of two evils, for it means you are in no danger."

Holly didn't know what she wanted or expected to happen. Her heart further sank when the other dot on Adam's tracker made himself known.

Ian Doherty had been watching the school captains from with interest from a distance. It was a curious sight really; the resourceful, popular, and most importantly _hot_ Holly at the mercy of a mad freak. He was enjoying what he was seeing. This was the perfect opportunity for him to make a name for himself – the head boy and girl, dead by the hand of poor defenceless puny little Ian. This is how he would make people fear him – they'd have to, otherwise he'd kill them too! _Now, don't hold back!_

"Adam, Holly! Good to see you! Enjoying the fun and games, are we?" Ian was actually shaking, but he was forcing himself to act confidently. He had a gun, they didn't, so he could take his time in readying himself anyway.

"Ian, this is neither the time nor the place. My blade exists only to defend, there is nothing to gain from an attack." Holly was past assuming Adam would react appropriately to being held at gunpoint. Instinctively, she'd put her hands up.

"Have you not noticed what I'm pointing at you? Can't you see it?"

"By relieving myself of the burden of conscious thought I see more than you know. Including the fact that we're both dead men, you sooner than me if you choose to stay where you are." Adam's hands were also in the air, but he was still holding the katana.

Adam was starting to annoy Ian; he should have been acting like a hostage, begging for his life. Instead it almost seemed like he was threatening him! Another thought occurred though. Holly was unarmed, therefore defenceless, as well as scared and physically little stronger than Ian. If Adam wasn't there, Ian could exploit the situation to his own advantage.

Naturally, Ian was a virgin, and hadn't actually been kissed. Nobody wanted to, and he'd asked almost everyone in the school at one time or another. Forcing it on someone was normally illegal, so he couldn't do that. Here, though, he'd been explicitly told that nothing was illegal – normal laws didn't apply in the Program. That meant he could do anything he wanted to Holly and there would be nothing wrong with it! Yes…he could try all sorts of things, stuff he'd only thought about or seen on the internet. And she couldn't stop him because if she did then he could torture her by shooting her in the leg or something. And when he was done, he could just kill her and have people fear him for killing someone so popular like he'd originally planned. It made perfect sense. Adam's body would be a bit of a turnoff though. Was it worth the trade-off? Letting Adam live so he could fuck Holly? Yes, of course it was. Excitement coursed through his body; he was finally going to see a naked girl!

"Listen Adam, I don't have any issue with you. Well, okay, I do, but I'm willing to let that go and give you a choice. If you walk away and go find your friends so that I can talk to Holly on my own for a bit, I won't stop you. You can live! Really! If you say no I kinda have to kill you, so it's best that you do it."

"Holly, I don't like where this is going. He doesn't have it in him to do any more than kill you but I'll die before I see it happen."

"That can be arranged, you know!"

"Run, save yourself!"

"Move one step and I'll kill you both! I-I-I'm not joking now, stay there! Adam, last chance." Ian had circled around slightly but Adam followed, denying him a clear shot at Holly. Ian was himself now scared. He didn't want to admit it but Adam was right; he almost certainly didn't have it in him to enjoy Holly the way he wanted to. He was desperate to, but girls were so alien and enigmatic to him that he wouldn't know what to do or how. The screaming would be a bit off-putting too, and he probably wasn't charming enough to persuade her not to do so. He could still kill her though! He just needed his moment, and a little more courage. Why wasn't Adam backing down? It didn't make sense!

"Correction, it's _your_ last chance. I see choices in the air numbering two – Holly's freedom or your demise. I am a traitor and a murderer, but in this instance will stay my sword and spare you to be slain by another less merciful should you choose the former. Either way, that innocent girl will remain as such. So FUCK. OFF. Leave with your worthless life." Adam's hand gripped his katana tightly, now holding it in front of him rather than above. He could sense Ian's weakness. _Protect her…it is all I can do it is the only reason I still breathe I am undead for that purpose alone! This mortal beast will not slay her while I still draw breath!_

Holly was all but paralysed; caught between a madman who was obsessed with her and a gunman desperate to kill her…or worse. If she tried to run then either of them might turn on her, but without a weapon what could she do but stand there? _So much for never being the damsel in distress._

"How many times do I have to warn you Adam, you run or you die!" The gun was raised threateningly, but Ian was shaking violently; his finger could barely stay on the trigger. He was trying to pull it but, as before, his nerve was failing him. He desperately wanted Adam to die so he could figure out what to do with Holly, but somehow it wasn't happening.

"That's it, you've had your chance! Holly, get down, NOW!"

From nowhere Adam charged, going in an instant from an aggressively defensive stance to almost flying towards Ian, sword outstretched in his hands. Neither Ian nor Holly, who had thrown herself to the floor, could predict or stop the katana as it sliced across Ian's torso.

As he fell backwards, screaming, Ian finally, instinctively, pulled the trigger on his Uzi, meeting Adam's rush with a burst of bullets before dropping the gun. Adam was thrown off balance but could no longer feel pain. He believed himself undead, thus mortal injuries were no obstacle to him. Throwing himself forward, having kept hold of the katana, Adam plunged it deep into Ian's stomach twice, guaranteed Holly's safety by thrusting it into his groin, then further punctured his stomach. Ian let out a gargling scream, but could not continue the fight and was dead within half a minute, Adam holding the blade in place until he stopped breathing.

The moment Ian did so, Adam was overcome with a sudden awareness of the gunshot wounds in his own body, and fell to the floor as he put a hand to the area. Holly rushed to him, her own breathing now erratic as she did her best to overcome her fear.

"Adam say something! Are you alright? God let me help you, take my sweater while I get you some water-"

"Whe-where am I? Holly? Is that you? I must have just woken up, think I've been asleep. Wow…it's clearer now."

"What's clearer?" Holly paused, looking curiously at a boy whose eyes looked completely different from the way they had done mere moments earlier.

"Everything. I feel…lucid, again. Don't quite understand it." The words were punctuated by deep gulping breaths, as he tried to bring himself back to his senses at last. "How did that happen? Wait, what _has_ happened? Why does it hurt?"

"Adam you saved my life, can you not remember?"

"I did? That was nice of me. Wait…I dreamt that I did that! Must have been…vivid dreams, I think I remember most of it. Who did I save you from?"

"Look beside you." He saw sorrow in her eyes as she spoke, and felt overcome by horror as he noticed Ian's body, the katana embedded in it like the sword in a stone. As he realised it was all real, including the gunshot wounds Ian had inflicted upon him, Adam started to cry.

"Can you walk, I think-I think we should go…try and find somewhere safer, someone might have heard the gunfire. Here, I'll help you up!" Holly placed her arm under Adam's shoulder and tried to lift him, but despite his meagre frame it was little use.

"Aaaah! Fuck, that hurts too much. Can't do it…" He'd managed a few steps but no more, Holly catching him as he collapsed. "Guess my walking days are over then."

"What do you mean 'over', I can help you, we can…"

"Holly my mind's a bit of a blur right now, don't know what's going on except that Ian's dead and I'm in a _lot_ of pain right now, but I know there isn't anyone who can help me."

"But if you won't accept help then what are you gonna do?"

"Die, I guess. Can't think of a better option. It's not that I won't accept help, just that there's no one to give it. In the dream…or real life, whichever it was, your dad said no one can help. I'm hurt pretty damn badly here, I do need a doctor right now, and you're not one."

They were each trying to fight back the tears; Holly knew she had to put on a brave face for the boy who had just saved her life, and Adam could see how upset she was and didn't want to make things worse. They both knew, however, that he was right.

"No…you're not going to die, I won't let you! God only knows what Ian was going to try and do, he had a gun and you saved me even though you only had a sword. I'm _going _to work out how I can help you. We've both got friends here, maybe they could-" Her words were flowing rapidly, but Adam raised a hand to interject.

"You _have_ helped me, Holly. Because I found you like this, I got to fulfil my pledge to you, because I've died protecting you. I didn't want to live anyway, or deserve to. It doesn't matter who pulled the trigger, I killed Zoey, now Ian too, and I betrayed Jenna. Me dying…means they can rest in peace…" Adam had somehow calmed down, but Holly was incredulous.

"Ian? Do you even remember what he tried to do, you said it yourself he was going to….I can't even say it." Why was he upset about _Ian_ of all people? Zoey she could understand, but not him.

"He wasn't going to do anything. He couldn't. He was a sad, lonely little boy living in a dream world. Not so different from me I guess, and soon we'll both be dead." Softly, regretfully, he spoke, though only to Holly did he sound like he genuinely accepted his fate.

"Why do you keep telling me you're going to die?" That he kept saying it was in itself, true or not, upsetting.

"Because I'm afraid, damn it!" Passion returned to his voice once more. "Because I don't know if there's an afterlife and if there is, which side I'll go to. Who am I to say how some hypothetical "God" judges any of us? I stabbed a boy to death, maybe that's enough to send me to Hell. I'm in so much…pain, right now, but maybe this is just the beginning…"

"Well there's got to be something, anything! I owe you my life!"

"You're right, you do. And…there's two things you can do for me, I think. But saving me's not one of them. Too badly hurt for that. Ugh…thought I'd be dead already! Really, I got shot point blank with an Uzi…how…was Ian that bad a shot that he missed all my vitals? Thought that 'don't take a gun to a knife fight' shit was only in films?"

"I don't know, I really don't know, please tell me what to do!"

"You're…not gonna go anywhere are you? I d like you to stay with me. I don't think I'll be that long now…" Seeing Holly almost pleading with him, Adam thought it best just to tell her.

"Okay…you're alive because of me, and only because of me. If I hadn't died for you, you'd have died instead, right?" She nodded. "Well that means I've given you a second chance in life. One you need to take. I'm still alive through you, in you. Please…make my sacrifice worthwhile. Live! For me, for everyone. Will you do that?"

"Of course…I swear, I'll make sure I make it home alive…"

"Thank you, that…that means a lot. The Legacy of the Anti-Clique is yours to determine now. I-I don't know exactly what it is, but I'm sure it's either you or Jenna it's about. I took the sword from her. The Blade of the Anti-Clique. Now I'm giving it to you. Make one dream come true, since you only die twice."

"I'll give you your answers, somehow, some day. You said you had something else?"

"Oh God Jenna, what have I done? Why didn't I listen? Was it…no, surely it couldn't have been! But it doesn't feel like it should, something isn't right. Perhaps we never really know what we have until we burn the bridges that take us away. But anyway, yes, too late for that…my other request. I want you to make my one dream come true, as I die a second time. I want you to…end my pain." Holly's face was a picture of pure horror. Surely he did _not_ mean what she thought he did?

"How, exactly can I do that?"

"By granting me euthanasia. Please…I don't want to die in spite at the hands of someone I never liked, when I could die in mercy at the hands of someone I love…take the blade I bequeathed to you. Take it and release me at last!" His eyes lit up at the prospect. A perfect death, in a perfect way, by the perfect girl. Whatever happened in the afterlife, he could at least get there by means chosen by him.

"No, Adam! You can't! I…how could I? I can't do this!"

"You can't set me free? Holly…this might be the first time I've ever said it, or at least meant it, but I genuinely don't want to emotionally blackmail you here…but I'm suffering. I might last minutes, could be longer. I can't move, I can't do anything about it but wait to die. I'm begging you, please, help me in the only way you can now…"

As she looked deep into his eyes, Holly tried to see past his words, into his mind itself. She saw pain, inside and out. He was right; this wasn't a typical plea for attention or sympathy. It was a dying man begging for mercy. Begging. She wanted to go away and think about things, as they weren't sitting clearly in her head. The last few minutes had all been a blur, with neither she nor Adam thinking completely straight. But when it came to it, it was a yes or no decision. She did it or she didn't. He was dying so she could live. What choice did she have?

Adam fought against the pain to force himself into a kneeling position as Holly pulled the sword from Ian's body, forcing the tears away from her eyes as she did so. Now wasn't the time for that. She couldn't help but display her discomfort, however.

"It's okay, you don't have to look…just be sure and get my neck please, I'd hate to be in even more agony if you miss…" At that she almost ran away. This was no time for those sort of jokes! She felt like an executioner as it was, and nearly asked if he had any last words, stopping herself just in time. He seemed to realise though, and answered the question anyway.

"Just, thank you. Kiss me with the blade. And seal the Anti-Clique's Legacy. Holly…"

As the katana Adam had stolen from Jenna rose into the air, he saw his life flash before his eyes. He recalled meeting his friends in the Anti-Clique, and all the fun times they'd had together. Their protests; the time spent at each other's houses geeking out; helping each other through good times and bad. And the time spent longing after Holly, watching her from afar, hoping for one brief moment she could be with him. And now she would carry him with her always; he would live forever through her as she bestowed one final act of mercy upon his broken body.

With this thought, he raised a smile as he felt the blade approach his neck. That smile was still there as his head fell to the ground. For now, Adam Lewis, Head Boy, most prominent of the Anti-Clique and one of the best known students in the school, had died just 10 hours into the Program while saving the life of the woman he secretly thought he loved. Yet despite it all, he had, ultimately, died happy.

Holly Morgan dropped the sword, fell to the ground, and burst into tears beside the lifeless bodies of Adam Lewis and Ian Doherty. In her grief, she neither noticed nor cared that she was in a white forest, hiding by a hollow tree.


	15. Hour 11: She's Got Red On Her

**Hour 11: She's Got Red On Her**

She was lying on a hill. It was a cool summer's day, the skies were clear and the sun beamed down. Her sister, Rita, was with her. Today was the kind of day she liked the most, because the cares of the world didn't matter. Out there, beyond, were many things she did not want to bother herself with. It was good to take this moment and enjoy it, because it belonged to her and Rita, and them alone.

Yet in what seemed like an instant, the walls of Rozelinda Mayfair's reality started to buckle. Was it time to go home already? Rita had already stood up and was walking away, something Roz could not yet bring herself to do. She didn't want to go back. Rita was trying to say something to her, but was too far away and could not be heard. Odd, considering she was standing but a few feet away.

Regretfully, Rita turned and left, though the hill seemed to now reject Roz's presence thereon. Forced to stand up, she felt a shaking sensation all around her. Something wasn't right; she felt nauseous. It was as she forced her eyes shut in the dream that she awoke in the real world.

She was already on her feet when she awoke, and still shaking. Something ached, but she wasn't coherent enough to work out what, or where the hill had gone. Or, for that matter, where Rita was.

Her sister was a year younger than Roz, and had been ill much of her life, causing Roz to forsake most of her social life in order to take care of her. It was an emotionally draining task, to which she always feared she wasn't best suited. But it wasn't like she had a choice in the matter; she was as close to a friend as Rita got and duty to one's family came first in life. In time, her status as Rita's best friend became mutual.

She wasn't a particularly popular girl; if anything, people seemed to almost fear Roz. She'd found, however, that emotional distance was the only way she could deal with her sister's illnesses, since Rita always saw through it when she feigned ordinary bravery. Not that she was surprised that so few people cared. Everyone had their own problems to deal with, and those of others came second at best.

Did that explain what had happened to her now? This wasn't something she'd done to herself, thus someone else had…putting a hand to her neck, she found the source of the pain. Pulling out a small object with a sharp end, she realised it was a dart.

As the grogginess started to fade, Roz thought hard about the last thing she could remember. She was running. No, that wasn't accurate – she was fleeing. Yes, that was right! Someone had shot at her. There was a pub nearby; that was where her assailant had to have been. After that was largely a blur. A short chase, then darkness.

Yet that was momentary, for in sleep she'd been at peace on the hill, though she didn't have time to consider the implications of that. More pressing was the realisation that all of her possessions were missing. Truly she had been uncoordinated for it to have only struck her now that she held not a single belonging. Whoever had attacked her had taken it all – her bag, her weapon…and her map.

Roz had never been to Caphraig, having never held much interest in travelling. When she wasn't in the local gym or leisure centre she was usually engaged in more sedentary activities, like literature study. Thus she knew nothing of the layout of the island, and so had been rendered blind and defenceless.

It was an unnerving thought, made more so when she realised that even her watch was missing, meaning she couldn't even know how long she'd been asleep. A cunning, yet cowardly move by her unknown attacker, though ultimately Roz had to face the fact that she may herself have acted little differently had the situation been reversed.

She'd said as much to Sadie Willis when they met earlier. Scared little girl that she was, she failed to realise the reality that was the imminent death of almost everyone on Caphraig. Perhaps being detached was benefiting her now? It meant that she felt no inclination to panic, despite the slight feelings of fear and disappointment.

She was glad she only felt them faintly, having known what it was like to be overcome by such emotions. Breaking up with one's first love tended to do that to people, and when she was 16 Roz was no different. But she'd learned from that; that as much as anything else in her life taught her the importance of keeping a cool head and being objective about one's circumstances.

It was what she knew she had to do now, as she moved cautiously from where she'd fallen. The pub was obviously not a sensible place to visit, so she'd turned in the opposite direction. Where she might find assistance wasn't clear, though standing on her own wasn't going to achieve anything.

Mere moments later, Roz realised nothing she could do would achieve anything, her heart sinking as she heard a familiar beeping sound. It was coming from her neck and she instantly recognised it as the countdown to her demise. Having been stripped of everything she owned, and rendered unconscious for who knew how long, Roz had had no way of knowing that she was right next door to a danger zone.

Even she of all people may have cried out for help in such a position, if she hadn't realised it would accomplish nothing. Aside from anything else, there was no one around her, anyone in the pub being too far away to reach her in time if not the same person who attacked her earlier.

Faced with what she knew to be her final moments, Roz thought she saw Rita appear in front of her again, beckoning her to the hill they'd been lying together on in the dream. Deciding to return to where she'd fallen before, she lay down again. No longer fearing that which she could not control, she closed her eyes and once again found herself there. Rita had again retreated to the distance, but Roz now understood that that was because she still had her whole life to lead. A life in which she could do anything and go anywhere. Still, she was happy to wait for her there. One day, her sister would again join Roz, and when she did so, it would be forever. But that time was not yet. Not yet…

* * *

"I spy, with my little eye, something beginning with-"

"Sandra, if you say 'a' I'll know you mean alcohol. Only so many times you can trick me with that one in one morning." Anna Wilson laughed good-naturedly as Sandra Jackson rolled her eyes with mock guilt. There was a lot of tension in the air, but her optimism rather eased it and for that she was grateful.

Their friendship went back a long way, right since primary school. They'd somehow met in the playground and stuck together ever since. It was a group that used to be quite large, though some of them ended up going to different high schools and fell in with other groups, like Lucy, then Miranda left after S4 and Carol after S5. Now, here on Caphraig, it was just herself and Sandra sitting in the pub, neither they nor the late Rozelinda being aware of each others' presence so nearby.

"You still with us? Look like you're asleep on your feet. Join me, plenty to go around!" Sandra raised a half empty glass of wine, but Anna, though still smiling, shook her head. She wanted to sleep right now, it had been a long morning and she'd only gotten a couple of hours during the night, but it wasn't happening.

"Still too early for me hon, hey, more for you!"

"Look where we are, not like we're running low any time soon. Wish we weren't alone, though…"

"How sure of that are you? All things considered, might be for the best that we are."

Sandra looked up, a little hurt. That wasn't something she wanted to think about right now. While they didn't realise it, they'd found the pub not long after it was vacated by Hannah Bishop and Laurinda Davies. They'd cautiously looked around the area, but having missed the fallen Roz, they couldn't see any signs of life. In a way, that was good. But it also meant their other friends weren't around, and Sandra was too sociable to be cooped up with only one person, even if it was as close a friend as Anna.

"I just…I guess I thought we might have seen them by now. One of them even, I mean what if-" She stopped herself, embarrassed, as Anna listened non-judgmentally. "Look at me, going on like this. Please, ignore me!"

She didn't like getting emotional like this. Dissonance scared her, as did negativity generally. She'd seen her share, her parents having divorced when she was young. They were miserable, before and after; nevertheless, and fortunately for her, the one thing they were united in was their determination that Sandra enjoy life. And she did, very much so, even if her eagerness to please made her a bit of a pushover.

"Sorry, but I'm not going to ignore you. How could I, you're my best friend! Listen, it's only been a few hours; they could be anywhere. But they'll be alright, really! Pete's running this thing, and do you honestly think he's gonna let anything happen to Holly? We know him better than that."

That was what confused both Sandra and Anna; being so close to Holly gave them greater insight than most into the teacher who had become a murderer. As a dad, he was always fair, and had never been keen on the restrictions upon youth activity that had been introduced in recent years. In fact, he went against them as far as he could, Holly's mum not being fond of them either. As he saw it, what he loved about being a teacher and a parent was the same thing – helping young people. Something wasn't right about the way he was acting now, that much was certain.

"With this set up, I can't think how he can get her out. But I'm hardly a scholar, he'll think of something. Maybe once he does, she can put in a good word for the rest of us. That's what friends are for, isn't it?" Standing up with a slight spring in her step, Sandra took another swig from the glass, determined to ignore any arguments against her for now. Anna gave into temptation and took the quarter-full bottle, causing Sandra to grin mischievously.

"What? Too much here for you alone, though I'm not having more than this bottle for now. Still, I think we've got the right strategy for now – go to the Crofter's Arms, have a glass of wine and wait for this to all blow over. You've got red on you." Anna had been infected by her friend's enthusiasm, and was grateful. Sandra giggled, having realised she'd spilt wine on her top when she stood up.

"Good to see you're finally getting it."

"No point disagreeing, I guess! Listen, don't worry about the others, but don't expect them to just magically turn up either. If that kind of coincidence ever actually happened…well, I'm sure you can use your imagination, ha ha!"

Sandra was about to relent and agree with Anna, but she was distracted by a shadow passing the window. She might have passed it off as nothing, had Anna not also apparently seen something. The windows were made of thick, dirty glass, so what, if anything, was outside was unclear, but Anna once again felt uneasy all the same.

Whispering to Sandra to stay quiet, she softly moved to the window, listening for movement. Sandra, fearful, rushed into the kitchen. Anna was more of a leader than she was, so she was best placed to deal with any potential intruder.

Outside, Sadie Willis had no idea how lucky she was. The longer she went without seeing a friendly face, the more miserable she became, and that was really not like her. They were too faint to identify, but she could definitely hear voices from within the pub. The front door being too obvious a trap, she encircled the building to try and find a backdoor.

Finding it, but realising it was locked, she looked around awkwardly for a moment. Sandra undergoing a similar dilemma on the other side, she took a chance and cautiously opened the door. Sadie almost fell backwards in shock.

"Oh my God, Sandra, it's really you, I nearly…don't scare me like that, please!" As the friends embraced, each as relieved as the other to see who it was, Sandra felt a strange sense of pragmatism.

"Listen, come on in, we don't know who could be about." Sandra hurried Sadie in and locked and barricaded the door behind them.

"Yeah, sure, how long have you been here? Thought I could hear someone, but had no idea it was you!"

"Sandra, what's going on back there?" A friendly but curious voice called from the front room of the pub.

"Anna?" Sadie looked at Sandra, who cast her a knowing smile.

"Sadie! Yeah, it's me, get over here, you two!" All three girls beamed as they hugged.

"You were saying something about 'mysterious coincidences never happening', Anna? Sadie, just before you turned up I was saying that I kinda expected one of you guys to have found us by now, which admittedly was pretty unlikely. Here, put your bag down, you want a glass of wine?"

"No thanks, I'm alright, though I was gonna light up, if you don't mind? Now that I'm in relative safety, I could use a joint! God, it's so good to see you two! Take it you haven't come across Holly or Rahne?" Free at last from the weight of her hulking bag, Sadie hurriedly pulled one of several pre-rolled joints from her bag and lit it. It was exactly what she needed.

"Nothing, and you asking must mean you haven't either. Not a bad start, though, three out of five in the first twelve hours. We could be worse off, anyway. This place seems pretty secure, and we're best friends, so we know we can trust each other. Least…I think we can." A shiver ran down Anna's spine at the thought that she might be being presumptuous. "Actually, could we just make clear right now that we're all going to stick together?"

"Why's that even a question?" Sandra was bemused.

"Cos out here, everything's different. I've a feeling we're not in Perth anymore, and there isn't a pot of gold waiting for us over the rainbow." It was hours ago now, but still lingered in Sadie's thoughts, and while she'd calmed down, what Roz said to her still echoed in her mind. Sandra still didn't understand.

"What's different? Yeah, we're in a bad situation, but we're _not_ going to hurt one another!"

"That's easy to say when you're a world away from it, either physically or because you're in denial. Personally, I don't see it taking as much as we'd like to think for the powder keg to go off."

"Have you seen anything? Sadie…if you have, it's best that you tell us." Anna was more willing to believe her than Sandra, but then Sandra was a little naïve about the ethics of the wider world sometimes. Impossible as it was to disagree with her ideas, they just weren't realistic a lot of the time.

"I – no! I haven't…gotten into any trouble or anything." Sadie shrugged her shoulders uncomfortably, and sighed. "When I left the classroom, I thought we could all put our differences aside. I assumed that that's what we'd all do. Like you said, we're friends and our year in general tends to get along pretty well with one another, don't you think?" The more she thought about it, the gladder she was for the joint in her hand.

"Of course, a couple of idiots aside, we all do. It's the Academy that's falling apart at the seams!"

"Sandra, much as I love your optimism, you might need to face facts here. I ran into Roz earlier and she-"

"You let Roz get you down? Nobody pays any attention to her; she's mopey all the time." Now it was Anna's turn to be perplexed.

"No, Anna, I didn't…well, normally I wouldn't. I was just sitting on a hill somewhere, saw her, told her my idea, and she pretended to attack me. I know, that sounds weird. Don't think she wanted to hurt me, like you said, she just wanders around moping all the time and today was no different. But she made me wonder, what if she was right? What if we're not all going to get out of here, maybe most of us will have to die!"

The atmosphere in the pub had become a lot less pleasant in the course of just a moment. Sandra had started laughing at Sadie, who was inhaling from her joint as fast as she could manage. Anna alone remained vaguely calm.

"Guys, stop this, now! This isn't helping us any. Sadie, you might be right, but being paranoid is only going to make things worse. Sandra, please keep trying to cheer us up, I like it when you do that, but don't make fun of Sadie for being scared. We all are, whether we want to admit it or not. Mind if I borrow that, Sadie?" Calming herself with a draw from the joint, Anna handed it back as Sandra poured herself a pint of water. Sadie sat down, embarrassed at having caused an argument.

Uncomfortable silence followed, none of the three looking at each other for a moment. Sadie having caused the silence, she took it upon herself to break it.

"To answer your question, Anna? Sandra. I couldn't hurt either of you. Or anyone. Ever. Even if you hit me, and please don't do that, I don't think I could hurt you back. Haven't got it in me and I'm _pleased_ about that. I wouldn't want to be the kind of person who could." Her eyes were pleading; all she wanted was peace.

"Same here, and I haven't got a weapon anyway. Unless a brick counts as a weapon. You're my girls, would never turn on you. Sadie, since you missed it, me and Anna both think Pete's going to save Holly somehow, and she'll get us and Rahne out of here. All we need to do is try and relax until we hear from them, and we're home and dry!" Sandra was no longer so sure of how much she believed her own words, but it was in her own best interests to keep Anna happy and secure, and apparently her perkiness was doing that.

"Not much better than my weapon, though. Nunchaku. Sure, I could hit someone with it, but why would I want to?"

"To be fair, Anna, there was that time in the park that-"

"Sandra, anyone who calls Jake a faggot loses his teeth. It was only three anyway, and if it came to it I'd do it again quite hap…pily." Anna realised she'd raised her fist threateningly, to the horror of her friends, and meekly lowered it. "What you get, Sadie? Looks heavy."

"Would you believe it? A fucking _chainsaw_! Ugh, what use have I got for that? I'm a pacifist, for Christ's sake!"

"We'll worry about that later. If we have to, which I'm sure we won't. Holly and her dad, remember?"

Sadie was less convinced by Sandra's words than she wanted to be. Peter Morgan had murdered one of her best friends. Had she forgotten that? Thinking about it, she probably had, or was trying to. Maybe that was for the best. They all knew Zoey, and Anna and Sandra were relaxed enough, for now at least.

"Yeah, you're right. We're going to be okay, that's what's going to happen," she at last replied.

"Listen guys, the next report's just over an hour away. If it's okay with you, I'm gonna stay up until then to make sure Rahne and Holly aren't on it – and yes, I know they won't be, but…just, wanting to hear it with my own ears…then I really do need to get some sleep. Got a couple of beds upstairs, thinking it's worth taking advantage of that fact."

"Sure, Anna, we'll be fine. Right, Sadie?" Sadie nodded. Sandra was more relieved than she was prepared to admit, even if she didn't fully understand why.

None of them fully understood what they themselves were thinking in that moment. Sandra feared Anna, Sadie considered Sandra deluded, and Anna felt compelled to be the one in charge. But none of it mattered. For in that one moment in time, they were not alone. They were free, their finest day being yet unknown.


	16. Hour 12: Elevenses

**Hour 12: Elevenses**

After hours of walking, it was with some relief that Amber Canton found the perfect hideout, from where she could escape the outside world for a while. The dirt road had led her to a croft, some short way away from the north eastern coast of Caphraig. A few sheep still grazed on the land, the former owners of the farm having been apparently unable to remove them when they were evicted. They took little notice of the solitary figure approaching the small bungalow that sufficed as the dwelling house.

Hurrying inside, she saw the cottage looked as though it had been robbed; it seemed more spacious from within than it had done from outside, but clutter was everywhere, as though the previous occupants did not have much time to gather things together. Ornaments and other personal possessions were scattered across the shelves and floor, and the kitchen had been gutted – anything resembling food or drink had was gone, the fridge door hanging open. Despite the state of the place however, it would be safe. She could hide here.

It was tempting to light a fire to make the place a bit warmer, given the stone walls didn't appear to be very well insulated, but Amber knew better. A stone chimney meant she'd be too easily found if she did that. The temperature was the least of her concerns, though. Still, a nice warm body to heat her up wouldn't have gone amiss. Like that of Charlotte Turner, her best friend in the world. Amber had to wonder what had happened to her since the game began. Was she alone and frightened as Amber was? Was she dead, or in pain?

No, no, none of those things could have been true. She was happy, safe and secure, which was where she should have been, if not in Amber's arms. They'd been friends for years – she'd never had many, but Charlotte wasn't like other people. Charlotte was forever lost in her own little world, but she'd take Amber with her and together they'd forget all about the ugliness of real life.

Having barricaded the front door with the small sofa from the living room (after struggling to push it past the clutter) and the back door with the kitchen table, Amber found herself in a bedroom in which she intended hiding for a while. It was one of two, the other being fitted as a parents' room while the one she was in must have belonged to a child. As with every other room, possessions were strewn about, which saddened her.

As Amber looked around the room, something caught her eye for reasons she couldn't quite explain. It was a book on the floor. It looked well worn, having clearly been loved very dearly. The old cover simply had the title – Alice's Adventures in Wonderland. Seeing this reminded her of a simpler time, back home.

* * *

Amber was twelve again, as were Charlotte and Alyssa Davids. They both liked Aly a lot, having been friends with her for a few years even by those early days of high school. It was a rainy day in the summer between S1 and S2, and the three girls were in Amber's room, which was a colourful refuge from the world. Nothing negative or bad was ever allowed inside; even when bad news came, she'd never accept hearing it in there.

It was Alice's tales that they were talking about that day. All three of them had always loved the book; how could anyone not?

"Why don't we really live in Wonderland? It's much nicer than here!"

"You're always saying that, Charlotte." Four years later, she still was. "But you're right, and we should. I don't think we can, though; none of us know where it is!" Amber had known that all along, but it wouldn't be for a couple of years that she would finally stop looking. Aly had never been so naïve, but Charlotte had never stopped.

"Yes, I'm always saying it, because we should. If we could, what would you have there? If you could pick anything?" Oh, to be so carefree again. Charlotte had never given that up, and Amber wished she could do the same. It was one of the reasons why she loved to be around her, because it put her back in that place. Amber remembered in that moment how she'd answered the question, and it pained her.

"Most important for me would be that you'd be there with all the other nice people and creatures, and none of you would ever leave."

"Don't think we'd want to anyway. As long as we went there after Alice beat the Jabberwock. That thing's kinda scary!" Aly had been a little quiet, which admittedly was quite common.

Even though she'd always been very close to Amber and Charlotte, there was something slightly awkward about Aly when they hung out like that. It had always been that way, and it had never been clear why. Over the years, they'd drifted slightly apart. They were still close friends, but Emily Green and Manuel Noles were seen with her more often of late. That, however, wasn't something Amber wanted to dwell on right now. Emily was nice though, when she wasn't stressing herself out too much from studying. Aly was quite studious; that was probably how they became such good friends.

But Amber couldn't really be bothered with that. She probably should have done, to improve her life, but it looked like her choosing to just have fun whenever she could find it had proven to be…_no! Not now! Life is more than studying. That's why I did it._

"Oh yeah, we'd definitely be there afterwards, when everything's nice and happy again!"

"Charlotte, I love that smile! And thinking about it, maybe it would be exciting in its own way to go on that adventure? I mean, my friends would be with me, I'd have lots of help, and the prophecy says that Alice wins! So there wouldn't be anything to worry about after all."

"Even for a scaredy cat like you, Aly?" Amber had been a little surprised by that from her at the time, but it became clearer later; she wanted to be something in life, perhaps even the hero in her own adventure. Given the chance, she could probably come out of her shell eventually. Aly just returned the remark with a slightly guilty smile.

"What about you, Charlotte? What would be in your fantasy world? Mine would be the adventure, as long as you were there."

Charlotte hadn't responded for five full minutes; she'd been lost in the fantasy. A knowing look exchanged between Aly and Amber said it all, really. The answer to the question was that everything and nothing would be in her world. Nothing had changed, nor would it likely ever. When she finally did speak again, it was with unrelenting joy at the prospect of it being true. Not for one moment did the idea that it wouldn't cross her mind.

* * *

As Amber finished carefully flicking through the pages of the book, she once again found herself on Caphraig. She had to wonder if Charlotte perhaps had a point. After all, the real world was harsh and scary. But Wonderland? Bad things just couldn't happen there. Sooner or later, the time would come for Amber to move on. But not yet. She was all alone and secure now, and happy because of it. She could make herself even happier by returning once again to that magical place on the other side of the looking glass, if only for a while.

* * *

It was with a strange air of confidence that the stocky, imposing boy named Scott Irving walked on Caphraig's northern side. He was going nowhere in particular, but that did not bother him. He had no need to decide where he wanted to go, knowing that his path would reveal itself soon enough.

Scott was a peculiarity in a generation and in a town suffering no shortage of such. His family were unremarkable, his mother a nurse and his father a painter and decorator. Their children yearned for the spotlight, however, one brother failing to achieve this but the other succeeding through being a young music star. Young to the degree to which such things were permissible in the modern era, anyway – being 4 years older than Scott, he had passed the age of responsibility.

Scott himself, however, had more practical goals. He was a politician and a philosopher, and spent much of his free time reviewing and refining his beliefs. An entire shelf on his bookcase at home was devoted to his essays and critiques; some day, he would get the chance to showcase them to the world. They were the backbone of his existence – he didn't understand how people could live without understanding how and why they did so.

Of course, such interests were hardly in the social mainstream, and his isolation from his peers was greater even than that of the others in his group. Not that he cared; tact and personal likability among the masses being irrelevant at this stage of his life. His friends could provide the PR, while he provided the message and, where necessary, the muscle. The message was all that mattered anyway, and he was plenty confident in that.

While not a particularly religious person, this had less to do with his belief in God – he was a Catholic – than his belief that it wasn't his duty to serve him. As he saw it, a being which one could reasonably define as God had to exist, as it was that being that had determined his destiny. He'd believed in fate since he was young, and as time passed he'd been increasingly convinced of the inevitability of it.

As it was 11am, he'd paused his search for his friends to consider this over elevenses. It was a shame he didn't have any tea to hand, but a can of Coke and a sweet from his collection made for a more interesting snack than his captors had provided.

The sugar and caffeine coursing through him further improved Scott's mood. _It's my legacy. Our legacy. We've been together for years, and nothing's going to change._ Well, one thing might change – they would be legends. Gods among young people! So many in the activist community abhorred the Anti-Clique for not striking hard and fast when it supposedly mattered. So many liked to say that just before they did something stupid that got them arrested. Oh how the tables would turn, though, when they witnessed the unmitigated _humiliation_ of the Government's greatest crime against this generation. Popularity. Notoriety. Influence. All of those and more would be theirs.

It would start with Adam; a plan was clearly already gestating in his mind. Loathe as he was to admit it, Scott was a little unsure of where to start. But why should he worry about that when Adam clearly knew what he was doing? Driven by a thirst for vengeance for Zoey, the man must have been preparing for the attack.

They others presumably were doing likewise. Kim, for example, had issues, but she was strong, and there was no doubt in Scott's mind that she would overcome them. Alcohol was a dangerous master, but Kim was a slave to no one – she was just biding her time before she overcame it.

When it came to it, these were supposed to be a tough few days, but Scott couldn't see it that way. A couple of people had died, but they were either extremely unlucky or just asking for it anyway. His friends were all okay, and that was how they would remain. Scott would find them, finalise and enact their plan, and there was nothing anyone could do about it.

It was a comforting thought, and one that had gotten him through many otherwise difficult times. Knowing that it was all about to come to fruition actually excited Scott – his destiny was about to be revealed at long last. _You know, I really don't care what anyone else says; life is, and has always been, pretty damn good._

* * *

It was turning out to be rather a nice day, and Valerie Woolfe was determined to at least try and make something of it. Of course, the circumstances were meant to be different, and Stefano was supposed to be with her, but relaxing on Caphraig was what she'd wanted to do anyway. So ignoring the road flare in her bag and the now unnecessary inconvenience of her purchases in Oban yesterday, that was what she was going to do.

Val was an athletic girl with shoulder-length brown hair and eyes to match. For those who were into sporty-types, she was as attractive as they came. There was something about the stereotypical sultry Italian in her appearance, though her personality didn't match this; she was down-to-earth, tried to be rational where possible, but found as often as not that her naïveté was her downfall. She was difficult to dislike, and equally couldn't bring her to dislike many from her class. Life was too short for hate.

It seemed a weird thing to do, but she had the urge to sunbathe, while the wind wasn't too strong. Resting her head on her bag, she was taking the time to enhance her already impressive tan. It hadn't been long, however, before a curious figure came into view. It was skipping and dancing, faintly singing or humming to itself, and stopping when it noticed Val.

"Hello, Val! We don't really know each other, but I want to play a game!" That was a little direct, but coming from Charlotte Turner, that wasn't surprising.

Charlotte had Asperger's Syndrome, though that alone didn't account for the fact that she was one of the stranger girls in the year. Still, she was also completely harmless, and her perky attitude suggested she was doing the same thing as Val by trying to have fun. With Charlotte exuding a look of anticipation, Val couldn't help herself but stand up.

"Okay, why not? What sort of game did you have in mind?" Val returned the smile with quizzical curiosity. Charlotte didn't seem to have anticipated the question, and looked uncertain.

"Oh, I don't know, really. I'm just happy for some reason. It's a nice day in a nice place, and since I've found you, I don't have to be lonely any more! No one wants to be lonely. People should take more time to just have fun and play with each other, right?" Charlotte was still skipping about, almost on the spot. Her cheerfulness was infectious, and in the circumstances it was very welcome, as far as Val was concerned. That said, there was something about her that seemed even stranger than usual. It was slightly off-putting in its own way, but presumably wasn't worth thinking about.

"What's that you've got in your hand there?" For some reason, Val had only just noticed it. Charlotte lit up.

"Oh! It's my new toy, would you like to see it? Wait, where did it…ah, there it is!"

It was a remote, apparently, for a racing car that Charlotte had allowed to drift behind her. She laughed as she drove it at a surprising speed right past Val, then circled her a few times before stopping at Charlotte's feet. Was that seriously what passed for a "weapon"? Of all the people she could have run into, someone so innocently nice was a good result for Val.

Trusting people wasn't something she was particularly good at, having been bullied extensively in primary school before finally coming out of her shell in high school. Being friends with Shanae Preston helped with that, as she would gleefully scare off anyone who might threaten her. And of course, there was Stefano. It had taken her so long to realise how she truly felt about him, but every time she thought about him it seemed like another, previously forgotten, time when he'd been there for her in years gone by was remembered. Still, when it came to Charlotte, she was perfectly harmless.

"Do you like it?"

_No, I don't really. Running is something that I'd rather see people do than cars. But who am I to judge? _"Yeah, it's quite cute in its own way." It was slightly unfortunate that every question Charlotte asked seemed to be done so with a tone of "please tell me what I want to hear or I'll burst into tears". Best just to smile and nod though.

"I like it. And I like you! It's a shame we never got to know each other before."

"Aww, you're alright yourself. Yeah, it is really, but I guess we both always had our own sets of friends, so we never ran into each other much."

"And now we won't ever get the chance to change things…" She now looked upset. Weird as this all was, seeing as they had nothing in common and would almost certainly never speak again after high school, this negativity still nonetheless wasn't appealing.

"Let's not think about that right now, we don't need to do that for ages yet. You said you wanted to play a game, so let's do it! We can play together for a while, while there's no one else here."

"I thought you'd never ask!" That had been easy enough. Unfortunately, however, Charlotte's idea of a game involved running rings around her with the remote control car, following her with it when she tried to move away. Not having any other ideas right now, she thought it best to play along for now, leaving her bag where it had been on the grass.

"So what are the rules here?" Val was hoping for an answer beyond 'I chase you for a while.'

"Rules? Oh, Valerie…you spend too much time on the track! This is a game, not a sport. There are no rules. We're happy, we're free, we're doing what we want to do!" That wasn't the most reassuring of replies, it had to be said. "If I run after you, do you think I can catch you? You're faster than me, but I think I can do it!"

"I'm not so sure about that, but you're welcome to try!" She probably didn't have a choice, but it was best to play along. After all, it was only Charlotte!

It was as Val ran that she finally saw it. It had escaped her, but it had always been there. The missing piece of the puzzle, the part of this that didn't make sense. Now, she realised. Now, she looked deeply into Charlotte's eyes, which were trained on her own. What she saw was pure darkness. The lost smile now returned to her lips, but something had changed; it didn't mean now what it did before. Unless…this was what it had always meant.

As the colour drained from her olive face, her dancing turned to flight. Get away…run away, fly away. She didn't know what Charlotte was doing, but she couldn't afford to spend any more time around her. _That damn car, what's with that thing?_

It was faster than Val was. An ugly but presumably harmless piece of plastic, it was chasing her to some unknown end. This wasn't a game anymore, no matter what the crazed girl thought!

But by the time she'd thought to flee, it had been too late. As the car swerved around and through her legs, she tripped, falling to the ground seconds later as it slammed into her leg. Val was in pain, but Charlotte, standing a reasonable distance away, continued to run it into her. Val screamed for her to stop, but Charlotte didn't even seem to know she was being spoken to anymore.

It was not long before Val's screams were silenced forever. A cloud of plastic, metal, rubber, flesh and blood roared into the air as Charlotte flicked a switch on the remote, detonating the car's payload of C-4 explosive. In that instant, seventeen years of life disappeared, Valerie Woolfe's body rendered almost unrecognisable by the explosion.

The game having ended, Charlotte walked over to her victim. She'd won. But the smile that had briefly adorned her face was gone, for she did not feel happy, as she should have done. Val was easy and fun to play with, because she wanted to. She was nice like that. But what about people who weren't? They would have to be persuaded, perhaps with her new toy, which she took from Val's bag. She knew that wouldn't be easy, given some of her classmates.

As Charlotte gathered her bag and walked away, she huddled into herself, looking up to the sky. It was the middle of the day, but she was sure she could see something big and black. It might have been her imagination; right now, she couldn't tell the difference. It was like a vulture, and its dark wings were descending upon her. Charlotte needed to find someone else to play with, and quickly.


	17. Hour 13: Descent of the Dark Wings

**Hour 13: Descent of the Dark Wings**

"Good afternoon, everyone, it's noon and you know what that means."

They had no idea what that meant. It was an argument Peter Morgan had held numerous times with Lieutenant-Colonel Stevenson, but the latter insisted on upholding the letter of the law. When this was ignored, he took to expressing a look of regret and raising a loaded pistol while his fingers twitched melodramatically. Morgan had long since given up trying to establish whether or not he was actually in charge of the Program, Stevenson's unnerving obfuscation making the task impossible. He had a script, and changing it was apparently out of the question.

"It's time for the next list of your deceased classmates and the danger zones. I'm sure you all have better things to be doing than listening to me, so I'll make this quick. First was Kevin Hetfield, killed by David Remnant. He was followed by Ian Doherty, slain by Adam Lewis. Next was Adam Lewis, killed by…"

Morgan paused for a few seconds, but it felt much longer. Stevenson's reflection shone through a surface top, and it bore an eviscerating glare. "Holly Morgan." He'd said it, but could no longer hide the pain in his voice. "Rozelinda Mayfair followed, killed automatically after entering an active Danger Zone. Finally, Valerie Woolfe lost her life to Charlotte Turner.

"A longer list than the last, but I sense that the reality of your situation may finally be dawning on you, and I don't think I need to tell you again what that is. What I do need to tell you is which new Danger Zones will become active. At 1pm that means D8, at 3pm C6, and at 5pm J6.

"This time I feel I do owe you some words of reassurance. Nothing in life is certain, and little is as it seems. That being something we generally only realise when it's too late to do anything about it, but it remains true. Most of you think you're going to die; most of you are right. One among you, however, is not. Each of you has it in you to be that someone. You have all seen and done things in your life, things that have shaped you as a person. But here in the Program, it's not who you are underneath, but what you do that defines you. I know you can do it, and it's you I'm talking to. I'd wish you all good luck, but that is so fleeting that instead I'd rather wish you intelligence. I'll return in six hours."

"You are many kinds of a man, Mr Morgan, but 'subtle' does not appear to be among them." As could have been expected, Stevenson looked less than impressed with his superior's knowingly-partisan tone.

"I revealed nothing. My job is to nurture and develop these students, and if I can still help them believe in themselves now, then I'm only doing as I should be." Morgan had scant reason to care anymore about how his words were taken; a little prying had confirmed that Stevenson would need extremely good cause to interfere with proceedings to the extent of incapacitating Morgan.

"A nice try, but you implied plenty." Stevenson sighed, slightly apathetically. "But that really isn't my concern for now; it's lunchtime and I'm sure you're feeling hungry? I've had my staff cook prepare you something. He's quite talented, you know. To the kitchen?" With a slight air of hesitancy and suspicion at the now pleasant tone with which Stevenson spoke, Morgan switched off the microphone and gestured Stevenson to go first.

"Oh, I'm not coming, I brought lunch with me. Thought I'd offer to assume your role for a few hours this afternoon, giving you a more substantial break. If you want company – which is not mandatory – one or two of my men may be taking their breaks as well, feel free to talk to them."

"This is different from you, what's brought-"

"You look like you need some rest, Mr Morgan. Take the opportunity and get some, I'll catch up with you later on." Stevenson's eyes were betraying nothing of his thoughts, but equally, he was not allowing Morgan to counter. And ultimately, he was right.

As Morgan made his way to the dining room, a single thought repeated in his head, over and over again: _She's not a murderer. I understand that, and so will they.

* * *

My best friend is a murderer. _Myriad permutations ran through Rahne Southers' mind, but they all came down to the same thing: Holly Morgan had killed somebody. If it wasn't a fact, it wouldn't have been stated as such, and everything else paled into insignificance because of it.

The morning had turned into a nice one, with the sun shining and what have you, but Rahne nonetheless felt extremely cold. In her head, she had a cartoonish picture of a horned, demonic Holly mercilessly gunning down her helpless victim as he begged pitifully for his life. Now that _surely_ wasn't how it happened – but how was she to know?

Her own father had said it. Anyone could be anyone, past lives, past personalities, in their entirety, potentially completely irrelevant. All a person needed was the right opportunity to do what they'd always wanted to do, or always been interested in trying out. Here, like anywhere else, there were consequences. But given that everyone would eventually die anyway, they were much more short-lived than in the real world. After all, it wasn't like you'd go to prison if you shot or stabbed someone. If anything, that kind of thing was prudent, since it was the only way to survive.

Which led to the question of what was motivating Holly. Malice had never been in her nature. Societal manipulation? Sure, that was easier for her. But then, she was good looking and popular, both true of Rahne herself. It was hardly immoral to take advantage of one's strengths when the opportunity came along. Was it?

A simple scenario demonstrated that. Rahne hadn't had any long term, serious relationships before, but she'd been out with a few guys, and been come onto by a few more. The latter included guys who were completely beneath her for whatever reason, be they creepy, unkempt, or just not very nice people. Since she could do, and deserved, better, why shouldn't she have turned them down?

She did, and it wasn't always possible to do so pleasantly. Of course she tried, but there was that time Ian had spent half the S4 school ceilidh begging for a dance. Maybe it had been the supermarket own-label vodka dulling her senses, but the only way she'd found to get rid of him had been to kick him hard between the legs. Rahne might have felt sorry for him if he wasn't so disgusting; the incident hadn't done her own popularity any harm anyway, since he'd sensibly decided to lay low for a while after that.

Poor bastard, he was dead too now. It was always going to happen, and given how few friends he had it really could have been anyone. She hadn't expected it to happen like that, admittedly, but then that really wasn't the point. What was the saying? "_There but for the grace of God go I_" _or some shit. _Even without knowing exactly what happened, could easily think of a dozen ways it could have been her. _Or Holly…_

They were in an emotional situation. Rahne had gotten a little drunk and beaten a grotesque but harmless guy up. She let her emotions get the better of her that night, of which she'd never been proud, though other people didn't need to know that. What was to say Holly hadn't done the same thing?

It was almost insulting to think that he kept up the stupid pretence that his crush was a secret; that could certainly have given her cause to overreact. Hell, he'd even been staring at her on the bus over here. It creeped Rahne out, though Holly had always insisted she not say anything to preserve his feelings.

Now she'd killed him. That didn't add up. None of it did. Yet at the same time, she knew any of them could have been what happened. Her best friend, the girl she knew, could and would never have killed someone. Murdered someone. Different words…were they the same here? Rahne didn't know. But she knew that one way or the other, it was the case that someone was dead and Holly was responsible.

He'd seemed different when he left the classroom. Somehow, whether because of Zoey or what, _something, _even if exactly what couldn't be known, had changed. And the simple fact of the matter was that there was no way of guaranteeing that Holly or anyone else wouldn't change too.

She was a killer. She just was! If the person Rahne knew and loved wasn't or couldn't have been a killer, then that meant she wasn't that person anymore. In that instant, Rahne found herself trying to establish the better proposition – her best friend being capable of murder, or someone else having destroyed what it was about Holly that made her her best friend. She didn't know, and didn't know that she wanted to, either.

She didn't know anything anymore. _It could have been me_. She could have been the victim, she could have been the killer; she would yet become one or both. Having so little control over the matter scared her, though it also, in its own way, comforted. For limited control meant limited responsibility. Holly had killed someone, and would have to take and live with the responsibility for it, forever.

Rahne didn't have such burdens; she didn't have any, in fact, nor had she ever wanted them. But she knew that that was never going to last. Eventually she was going to take control of her life. Now she'd never get the chance. She shrugged it off, unwilling to dwell on that thought too long, though still unable to escape another. _Holly…why _did_ you kill him?_

* * *

Jenna Widdowson's head hurt. She'd awoken a few minutes ago, as Morgan's voice blared on loudspeakers located God knew where. Lying uncomfortably and in pain resembling a hangover, she recalled instantly what had befallen her but could not bring herself to so much as react, let alone move from her position. Morgan's words flew over her, a tinnitus-like noise amidst the din in her head. Until, that is, she heard one name on his list.

It wasn't Rem's inclusion, a weak smile crossed her lips when that was announced; he could be a little too nice for his own good sometimes, and Jenna wasn't sure he really had it in him to kill as he needed to. It was a certain backstabber's death at the hands of Holly that caused her to spring up.

She immediately regretted doing so, a sharp ache rippling through her. But this was no time to be lying around. Jenna hadn't slept well anyway, nor for very long, given the time. After all that had happened…what should she do now? What _could_ she do? _The traitor's finally dead, may he rot in Hell. And Holly's got the blame._

There was a thought, though she had better things to do than dwell on it. Whatever had happened with Holly though, given the state that her victim was in? He had a role to play himself. Even in the Program she wouldn't murder him in cold blood, but he could probably give her a reason. Still, there was no reason to even care.

He'd taken everything from her, including her only means of self defence. There was Darren's axe, but given she'd cut the head off at the top of the haft, it was now useless. It was double-edged, so she couldn't even hold it and use it as an ersatz knife. _Shit…_

A thought crossed Jenna's mind. It was a risk, she knew it might mean her death, even if it didn't it might have been a waste of time, but goddamn she had no choice. She needed a weapon, any weapon…and she knew she just might find one. Perhaps even in death, Jemi could help her.

There was no point in wasting time; however uncomfortable she felt, however upset or angry or whatever else – staying where she was would be suicide, and if she could die either way then it was better that it happen this way. Quickly gathering the food and water from Darren's bag, and taking note of the new Danger Zones before she forgot, Jenna cautiously ventured south.

She lit a cigarette; it tasted better than anything else on earth right now, and it had been far too long since she'd lit up. The 40 Jenna had with her were unlikely to last too long, she suspected. Least cancer was no longer an issue, as if she'd ever cared anyway.

As Jenna walked, she found herself feeling something she hadn't known, at least consciously, in a long time – vulnerability. When she'd left the classroom all that time ago, she'd felt on top of the world, being strong, having a decent weapon and the perfect partner with whom to inflict mayhem upon all in her path. But with Jemi gone, there were no replacements, unless she fell upon Rem any time soon, and her many enemies were wasting no time in kicking her when she was down.

But she couldn't change that; all she could do was find the means to defend herself against them. She was close. The terrain was rockier towards the south coast, which made concealing herself easier – unless Peter was still around with his rifle. On her hands and knees, Jenna crawled closer.

Silence filled the air. Jenna looked up to the lighthouse aerie but could see no one; it no longer mattered anyway – she could think of worse places to die. Jumping to her feet, she remained perfectly still a moment, before warily glancing around, her hands instinctively in the air for some reason. There was nobody there; Peter, or anyone else for that matter, couldn't have missed if they were.

All of which meant the two girls were at last alone together again. Thinking practically before emotionally, she immediately went for her bag, sighing with deep relief when finding her pneumatic spike still there. As Jenna withdrew it, and the cigarettes Jemi would no longer need, she felt her hand on something else. It was Jemi's diary, which she opened to the last entry, written on Saturday.

"_It's been coming a long time, but on Monday we're finally off to Caphraig for a few days. I suppose this marks the end of a long school life, one I'll be glad to see the back of. I don't even know why I stayed on for S6 really, not done anything with it and missed most of my classes but I don't know what I'd like to have done either. Rem's the same. Come to think of it, so's Jen, she'd just never admit it._

_I guess I'm just sick of this place, and looking forward to getting away from it. It's not even the people, though most of them do have their heads stuck up their arse and can't see past their own meaningless lives. I think it's more that they all seem to know what they want to do with their lives, and I never did._

_Got into uni easily enough, studying Business at Edinburgh, but I don't know if I want to be doing that. Maybe marketing or something, but then I'm not exactly a people person. Fuck knows. Uni gives me a few more years to think about it anyway, and the others'll be there too, which is cool. SO glad they decided to stick with me, don't know I could do it on my own._

_They'll also be on the trip, though Rem was thinking of skipping it. Glad he's not. Costs a lot for what it is, but he's the only guy in the class who isn't retarded, so we need him with us to keep us sane. It's gonna be fun anyway; much as I hate to admit it, Mr Morgan's an okay guy and probably won't care too much about what happens. Rest of the teachers are wankers though, I won't miss them._

_Guess I'd better go and get my dinner, since the only two people in the world who matter besides me are coming over later! Love our film nights, hope we get to keep it up in Edinburgh. I know you can't read this, but Jenna, Rem - you guys so much! Next time I update this thing, I should be very drunk. Cannot. Fucking. Wait. xxx Jemi"_

Jenna closed the book, put it back in the bag, then rethought it and placed it in her own as she looked down on Jemi's broken body. She wanted to say something, but it was hard; this was the end and she knew it. It was the last time she would ever see her best friend, and her only chance to say goodbye. For several minutes she stood there, motionless.

"Always thought you'd be at my funeral. I'm the reckless one, the one who takes it too far, who doesn't know when to stop." She spoke softly, tears in her eyes but forcibly keeping them open.

"I guess me being here now means it's up to me to hold yours. I…never thought we'd make it to 80 or 90. I mean, even if we calmed down later in life we'd do enough damage before then to kill us sooner. But we should have made it further than this. Even here, with all this _bullshit_, we should have lasted to the end. It was meant to be, supposed to be. But we lost. You lost, anyway, but what's the difference?

"God, there's so much I want to say to you right now, but I can't think what or how. I've always been fascinated by death in some way, intrigued as to how it all works and happens. So were you, in your own way. But I never…I've never had much experience of dealing with it. There was your gran's funeral when we were seven, and my granddad's a year later, but we were too young to understand then. I don't even really remember them; I was too young.

"Perhaps it would have been better if I'd known someone else who died, so I could, I don't know, practice coping? We all die sooner or later, and so does everyone we know. But no one ever teaches you how to handle it."

It was all so surreal. So sudden and unexpected was Peter's bullet that Jemi bore only pained surprise in her eyes. She'd drawn her last breath in Jenna's arms, and her blood still stained Jenna's clothes. So pale. So innocent. Gone, forever.

"I think it's tradition to think of a special memory of the victim at a funeral. I've spent my whole life with you…there are so many. So many." She was struggling to hold back the tears, and held Jemi close, cherishing her now cold embrace.

"One that sticks in the mind is the time your brother and his girlfriend took us to Glasgow for the day when we were 14. You encouraged them to leave us to wander around town but got us lost way out in the East End. We ended up bumping into a couple of creepy guys we managed to get to buy us alcohol, then almost got arrested for anti-social behaviour after spending several hours wandering around drinking Buckfast. All the while Andy and Helen had to drive around looking for us because his phone had died. I'm sure you remember as well as I do the sight of them running down the street just as the police saw us and went to pick us up. Then when we got home, you tried to blame it all on Helen because you hated her, she blamed Andy for his phone dying, he blamed me because I'm me and I just stood there taking the piss out of all of you, right before you threw up on me. Next day, we all felt so ill but tried to act like it never happened. What a fucking day that was."

Jenna choked out what she thought was a laugh at the recollection, but was actually a convulsion. Falling to the ground, she found herself nose to nose with Jemi. She was so much prettier than she ever realised. If only Jenna was a lesbian, she'd have found the love of her life. It was probably best that she wasn't, though; that would have made the pain even worse, which was something she could hardly imagine, nor did she want to.

"That's the sort of time we should have been looking back on together right now. There's been so many of them, and there were supposed to be more. Me, you, and Rem at uni? We'd have torn the place apart, especially once we passed the age of responsibility. Nothing to stop us then."

If only Rem could have been with her; that was the other thought on Jenna's mind. They were a trio. The Trio. Yet only one of them was able to bestow a final farewell upon the third. Where Rem was, only he knew. He was alive, at least, and had something he could kill with. The terror of that being all Jenna knew drove her still deeper into despair.

She could speak no more, having lost the last remnants of control over her grief. Her tears flowed into the dusty ground beside her friend. What hope was there now for her? All Jenna had ever lived for was hedonism and her friends, and without the latter the former had no meaning. She raised Jemi's pneumatic spike to her forehead. _Better I die here, with you, than carry on pretending to exist any longer when you were the reason I did._

In that instant, for reasons she had no means of explaining, a twisted diabolical speech replayed itself in her head. _No no no not this, not now, not HIM_! The last words that bastard had said to her after betraying her. That she would come back from the despair he had, if not placed her in, then worsened. That he would justly die and she would live. The first part of that had already happened.

_So what? It means nothing! _Jenna wanted to believe that, but didn't know that she could. She was ready to die, and yet someone who had committed the ultimate crime against her was insisting she live, from beyond the grave. And it was the truth. She wanted to die, but what would that mean?

It would mean Jenna herself finishing what Peter, Darren and the traitor started. She'd return to Jemi, but on their terms. Peter was religious, and suicide was a mortal sin; final confirmation that she was in Hell would be music to his ears. She didn't want to give him pleasure – she wanted to give him pain, and as much of it as she could. As much as she felt now.

She couldn't do that dead. But a disturbing thought entered her mind – was causing more pain really worth the effort, and would it end her own? It wasn't right for her to be thinking that; it was unnatural, and went against what she lived for! Of course it was worth the effort. Some people deserved it, others needed it (whether they realised or not) and either way, many people were soon to experience it.

It was what she lived for…no, that wasn't pain. It was pleasure. The two often overlapped one way or another, but it was specifically pleasure she craved, and that mostly came from her friends. Two of whom were dead, one ceasing to be a friend beforehand. But Rem…

Rem was still alive. Jenna could, and had been, in the past, amused by the sight of anyone and everyone suffering, except Jemi and Rem. Their feelings actually counted for something, so she'd always done her best by them. She wasn't the best influence on them, of course, but they weren't idiots and there was never any pretence that she was a shining beacon of morality. They knew who and what she was, and could have chosen not to stick with her if they wanted. Now Jemi had died because of it.

But the hurt that caused Jenna was itself the reason why she had to endure it. Rem would have been hurting too, and her own death might kill him. She didn't have it in her to kill a second of her friends; in that moment, she could scarcely see the point of killing her enemies. The latter group included almost everyone in the class, and with good reason. She'd expected to laugh at them as they died; she the hunter, they the hunted. Now the other way around seemed more likely. Either way, they were irrelevant now.

Everyone was, save Rem. She had to find him. He was out there somewhere, and he had to have been waiting or looking for her. Peter truly did deserve to die; his arrogant sanctimony and superiority complex made it inevitable that he'd play this fucked up game, and he couldn't be allowed to be the death of Rem. But for once in her life, Jenna was going to put business before pleasure. He could wait.

As could her search for her one surviving friend, at least until she had finished saying her last goodbyes to her fallen one.

"I'm never going to see you again. This is the end of the first seventeen years of my life, and the start of the last two days. How am I supposed to sign off our friendship? I want to die for you, I want to live for you, either way I have to let you or Rem down! But I can't help that any more than you or he can. It's customary at funerals to play a song, so…I'll sing this one for you and then just go. It's best that way, before I change my mind. I love you, Jemi Britcher. I always have, and always will. When I get to the afterlife, find me in Hell or laugh at me from Heaven – please, just let me know where you ended up either way."

As the words flowed tearfully, Jenna knew her path was clear, despite the difficulty she faced in continuing it alone. Ultimately, her goal had not changed; she'd merely lost any potential help in achieving it and been forced to reassess her place in the food chain. But she knew beyond doubt what she had to do now, and had the reassurance that her death would always be a victory of sorts anyway, howsoever it came. Jenna hugged Jemi one last time, kissed her forehead, and started to sing.

"Lost in the darkness, hoping for a sign  
Instead there is only silence,  
Can't you hear my screams?  
Never stop hoping,  
Need to know where you are  
But one thing's for sure,  
You're always in my heart

I'll find you somewhere  
I'll keep on trying until my dying day…"

* * *

He stood there, standing over her. His mouth hung open, and he was shaking slightly, but otherwise he was motion and speechless. It hadn't happened long ago; there was an explosion, quite loud and powerful. He didn't know exactly what or where it was, but had started edging closer to the sound, out of curiosity as much as anything else.

Then the report came. Those words…casually spoken yet sending shockwaves with the power of an earthquake through him. It happened just before the report, so there was no question as to who it was. Her bag was a few metres away, which confirmed it – her body was so ruined that it alone could not.

As he looked at the lifeless girl through brown Italian eyes, he felt his heart shatter. As if it wasn't enough that his best friend had just been murdered, Stefano Valutti was standing over the body of his beautiful girlfriend, Valerie. What had happened to Kevin, he could only guess at. But this was right in front of him.

Not that he knew how the sparkling, fashionable love of his life could have been turned into a charred shell. Why would Charlotte do such a thing? And why to her? After a few minutes of considering this, while trying to make any sense at all of such a terrible scene, Stefano realised he was not alone. Holding his gaze on Val, in that instant he realised he didn't care what happened next.

"If you're going to kill me? Do it quickly, please. I'm in enough pain as it is, I don't need more." _At least this way we'll be together. I don't want to die, but better it be with you than anywhere else._ There was no response.

Stefano slowly turned around, keeping a corner of his eye on Val. He was surprised to see a tall girl, in whose eyes was a look of horror and sorrow. Certainly, Alyssa Davids had no intention of killing him.

"How…how long have you been standing there?" With tears in his eyes, he choked down the words.

"Not long. I, I just…Stefano…" Her own bag looked heavy as she placed it on the ground. Somewhat awkwardly, the pair hugged. "I was too late," she whispered. "She was my friend; she might have listened to me. Maybe I could have-"

"Stop!" Stefano forced her away, still not looking at her. "We don't know what we could have. We're here because she's…if she wasn't, we wouldn't know she was here. I heard the explosion and so did you. But were you heading in this direction before you heard it?"

Aly moved as though to step forward and reply, but thought better of it. She forced herself to look at Val, despite her instincts telling her to turn away from the macabre sight. She knew she wasn't going anywhere; Stefano's bereavement meant he wasn't going to think clearly for a while, and that put him in danger. She didn't want to admit that he was right about where she was going, but they both knew he was.

"Thought not." She hadn't replied, but that was in itself an answer to his question. "I wasn't either. I was just walking around, hoping not to expose myself to a threat as I waited for the report. It's too open around here; I wouldn't have had a reason to come this way if it wasn't for this."

It was also true of Aly, much as she wanted to deny it. Even after the explosion, and the report that came soon after, other things had taken priority in her mind. She hadn't realised how close she'd been to it all. Gunshots, screaming, the sounds of fighting, murder and death; these were happening all around her. One didn't seem more significant than another.

In any case, she wasn't strong, either of character or body. An outcast even among the outcasts; that had been how she and her friends saw each other. Standing up to people – fighting them? She had neither the capacity nor the will to do such a thing, especially against someone who could explode people with her weapon, and a friend at that. She'd known Charlotte forever, and even if they'd drifted slightly apart of late, they remained close.

"So many people are already dead, and we couldn't save any of them. Didn't, anyway." Aly broke her silence, but wasn't able to reassure Stefano as she'd have liked.

"Result's the same either way. They're dead, and nothing can bring them back. We won't be far behind them. And please don't try to tell me we're still alive. A song without music is merely a collection of words that could be anything and are nothing. Music gives them life; Val gave me life. And now she's gone." Stefano was on his knees, caressing her body. He was singing to himself, softly and in Italian; she'd always loved it when he did that. He longed to hear once more her appreciation of his talent, and knew that time would come soon. It was comforting.

"Dying isn't the answer! It's not what Val would want for you!" For a moment, even Aly couldn't believe she'd just said that. Stefano turned around, hurt, but Aly couldn't bring herself to take it back. "It isn't…"

"Who are you to tell me what she'd have wanted? You knew nothing about her, so please don't pretend you did."

"You're right…but I wish I did. Tell me about her?"

"I'll make you a deal," Stefano said, with a sigh. "I'll tell you about Val. After you tell me what the point of all this is, and why we should stay alive. Come 3pm anyone left in this zone dies anyway; give me a reason to leave – if you have one."

It was the key question. Fortunately for Aly, it had been forefront in her mind, being as she was weak, lonely and isolated. She was alive because she'd thought about it and given herself reason to be. No matter what happened, she would force herself to stand up to her fears and carry on. That kind of inspiration was what Stefano needed, and she had been given the chance to save his life.

Yet she'd inspired herself before having to come face to face with death. Stefano was right; she didn't know Val. But he did, and she felt his pain. Aly's friend was a murderer, and the innocent love of another innocent's life had been taken. She looked into Val's eyes and saw that there was all but nothing left of them. It was time for Aly to give Stefano the uplifting speech he desperately needed. And she couldn't think of a single word to say.


End file.
